The Gift of the Present
by Starwatcher2018
Summary: Second in a series of mysteries. Erik and Christine continue their life's journey in this sequel to A Gift from the Past along with their friends old and new. The villain who came close to killing both Erik and Nadir is gone. Now they look with hope to a new musical review, a new home in which to grow their family and Phantom Security - Erik & Nadir's business venture.
1. Chapter 1

**(A/N – This chapter is a combined Epilogue to "A Gift from the Past" and a Prologue to this story, thus the title TRANSITIONS. It represents the aftermath of the aftermath, if you will, giving the states of mind of the principals as they move forward.**

 **The original story was intended to "fix" the ending of POTO25 – I have, however, mingled in some Leroux and Kay with the ALW imaginings of the story. The main characters belong to them, however, during the course of my first story, a number of new characters were introduced and they are my property [they actually belong to themselves as most of us writers have discovered}.**

 **Thank you all for reading and reviewing – I hope you will find this sequel to be a good read.)**

* * *

TRANSITIONS

The hot water soothes aches in his body he was not even aware of. The struggle with Georges Robert Boudreaux accentuated how little he actually uses some of his muscles – while always agile – running up and down through the tunnels daily kept him quite fit – he, nevertheless, always preferred wit and stealth to actual physical contact with his opponents. Physical contact of any kind always being a challenge whether benign or hostile.

Despite this one level of relaxation, he feels decidedly awkward in his naked state with Christine bathing him – particularly considering the addition of lavender scented Epsom salts. Toss in the ongoing battle about the state of his hair and scalp, he finds his agitation growing by the minute. Not anger, certainly not anger with his angel, but a definite irritability.

" _It takes too much time to do all those steps – shampoo, rinse, mineral oil massage, wait, wipe oil off, shampoo, rinse again, dry."_

" _Just try it for a week – that is all I ask – and do not wear your wig all the time."_

" _I would still wear the wig. However glorious the mane you predict will be produced by these ministrations – half of my head would still be bald. I simply do not see the point."_

" _Please."_

" _All right."_

"I can really do this myself. You know I much prefer the shower to bathing," he complains. There is a profound difference between lovemaking and having your beloved wash your body. The remnants of his violent past are completely exposed to her – his awareness of them greater now, seeing what she is seeing. During his regular ablutions he simply does not observe himself.

The scars are so numerous, there appears to be not one square meter of flesh left untouched by a knife or a scourge. Tears well up in Christine's eyes, mindful of the pain Erik has suffered throughout his life all because of his face. Forcing a cheerful, if fussy tone, she says, "The doctor said the wound must not get wet. You have limited use of the arm, so this is the perfect solution. Left to your own devices, you would no doubt become frustrated and wind up making a mess of everything,"

"Not unlike my current state, you mean?" he snorts. "Are you quite finished, you have scrubbed me raw?"

"Oh posh, I have done nothing of the kind," is her sharp return. "Grasp my hand, so I can help you stand."

He complies with her request. Wrapping a large towel around him, she guides his steps from the tub. The excess water is first blotted, then she vigorously rubs him dry from head to toe.

"You have likely removed whatever skin I had left with that toweling."

"You are all nice and pink like a baby's bottom," she teases.

"What I have always dreamed of," he sniffs. "More likely it is all of my blood rushing to escape this body through my weakened epidermis you failed to remove completely with all your scrubbing and rubbing."

Taking up a large woolen puff, she dusts him with one of the scented talcum powders he gifted her with when he was creating this new home for her. With his body still damp, he is now coated in a white film transforming him from baby's bottom to ghost.

"Is this really necessary?" he asks before sneezing.

"Gud valsigne dig," is her reflex response, continuing with a resounding, "Yes. You know it feel goods and smells good and you will be more comfortable."

Holding up one of his fine linen nightshirts, she carefully slips his wounded arm into one sleeve, then stands on tip-toe to pull the rest of the shirt over the top of his head. "Put your arm through the other sleeve." Finally, she pulls the shirt down over the rest of his body. "There."

"What about you?"

"Do I not look like I have already taken care of myself?" Holding out her arms, doing a saucy little turn to display her newest nightgown of pale pink batiste trimmed with Irish lace. "After the brandy you imbibed almost immediately upon walking into the house, you fell onto the settee and promptly went to sleep. I bathed while you napped," she says, "Are you hungry? I have no appetite myself."

"Not even for your herring or macarons?" he teases. "No – just weary. More of a nap – in bed, with you at my side would welcome." Even her beauty and the mild teasing could not dispel the depression he was feeling – as if he had fallen into a well with no possibility of escape. "The bath relaxed me – thank you for forcing me into it. I am sorry for being such a curmudgeon."

"My pleasure." Pressing a hand against his chest, she tilts her head. "What is it, my darling? What is wrong – I have not seen you so grim in a very long time?"

"I feel as though all the years I did not sleep have caught up with me," he attempts a laugh, toeing his feet into his slippers, he wraps an arm around her as they leave the bathroom.

Once in bed, Erik nuzzles his nose into Christine's hair, her scent blending with his – lavender and chamomile. "Both flowers bring peace and calm – something we both need after the events of this afternoon."

As he pulls her closer to him, she tightens her own embrace, wrapping a leg over his hips, molding her body to his.

Cozy in the fresh nightclothes, sheltered by the Egyptian cotton sheets and wool blankets, Erik remarks, "This is perfect, exactly what I need – to hold and caress you."

The solitude and peace of their bedroom sooths not just the physical aches and pains suffered, but the deep fear that gripped both of them earlier – put aside by the necessities of the moment. Dealing with the business of attempted murder and murder – if Monique's act could truly be considered as such.

"I thought you were dead – or near dead. When I saw the blood…" Tears again threaten to flow from her aquamarine eyes, but she holds them back. He does not need to see her tears now. His is the fear that she must tend to. Still, being safe in his arms right now, allows her the freedom to relieve some of the anxiety that gripped her heart.

He kisses the top of her head, the fingers of his left hand stroke her arm, still damp with the lotion she applied after bathing. "You smell so lovely, my dear."

"And you," she laughs lightly. "We are our own little garden."

After a moment of silence – initially comfortable, then strained as tension grips him again. A shiver wracks his body.

"Please talk to me," Christine pleads, nestling her head against his neck. "I feel as though you are disappearing into yourself – please do not leave me to my own thoughts and fears about what distresses you."

"I thought he would succeed in killing me after so many years of escaping death – it crossed my mind that this was God's ironic plan – give me all those things in life I had dreamed about, but never hoped to attain – then rip it all away at the hand of a gross, barbaric creature who assaulted women for pleasure. Who killed a poor old dog. Who tormented a frightened child. After forty years of hating someone he did not know, he would finally achieve the goal of bringing about that child's death." Exhaling deeply, he says, "The greater irony is that I was actually supporting his life – at first my mother, but ultimately it was my lax handling of the estate was providing for him and his evil."

"You did not know."

"No, I did not – the problem is that I should have known." Another humorless chuckle. "I think I must see Pere Mansart again."

"You have not sinned." She strokes his deformed cheek with the backs of her fingers, gliding them across his lips – those swollen, oddly shaped lips that she loved kissing and loved being kissed by.

"Then why do I feel as though I have?"

"You are a martyr, my darling."

"Is that so?"

"It is," she says. "I am seeing your pattern. Hurt, damaged and frightened – so frightened – you fight back by being petulant and cranky – misbehaving to distract from the fear. Then you act as if nothing is wrong at all – you are in control. The last act is taking all the responsibility for the evil and foolishness of others on your shoulder."

"My goodness, you have learned all that about me?" His tone joking, but considering of her words. Not much time was given to thinking about how he dealt with his life – if he was feeling introspective, he wrote or played or sang. Looking back, though, Don Juan Triumphant likely reflected what she was saying. So his music did speak to her. His heart leapt with the faintest bit of joy at that recognition.

"It was in your Opera – both of your Operas. If anyone was paying attention, they would know this. You cannot help wanting perfection, planning everything – trying to prove that you are not your face."

"What?" He flinches, drawing away from her.

"Come back here." Resting her head on his chest, she follows the tortured patchwork lining his chest. "You are not your face. You do not have to be perfect to be loved."

Erik becomes very still. "You called me a brat – you have used that description before, in Swedish, snor…?"

"Snorunge."

"I was being a snorunge – everything was going as planned. You were safe, thankfully, so, I taunted him. Is not pride one of the seven deadly sins?" he chuffs. "When he pulled out the gun, I was enraged – the plan was so perfect – how dare that cretin disrupt my well laid out plot? How dare he have a weapon and turn it on my Nadir? Raoul had tripped over the mannequin, so Nadir was the clean target. He was not supposed to be hurt or even threatened. I was to throw my lasso, Robert would be caught and I would be acclaimed," he snorts. "Then in a moment, all the fine plans became moot. I had to fight in a way I knew little about, with someone who was physically superior to me – my wits would be of no use. If Nadir died, it would be my fault and I did not know how I could continue to live if that happened.

"I was so afraid – I do not remember ever being so afraid."

"Not for yourself, but for someone you loved," she says. "Thank you for telling me. I am here, my darling man," she croons:

 _*Ensam går jag här och vankar,_

 _Söker efter vännen min_

 _Ensam går jag här och vankar,_

 _Söker efter vännen min_

 _Se, jag möter honom här,_

 _Han, som är min hjärtans kär_

 _Vill du såsom förr med m_ _ej_

 _Svänga om I dansen säj?_

 _Tral la la la, la la la la,_

 _La la la la la, la la la la la,_ _  
_ _Tral la la la, la la la la,_ _  
_ _La la la la la, la la!_

* * *

Barely waiting for her to close the bedroom door, Nadir pulls Adele to him and presses his lips to hers, holding the back of her neck with one hand, pulling her body close with the other. An image of Robert flashes across his mind – is this the primal urge that drove him? Did Robert somehow transfer his irrational lust to him? Was that even possible? His mind seems to have lost control of his emotions.

The urge to push him away is strong – this is not his usual behavior – their passion is strong, but never so intense, almost brutal. Still, she allows this to play out, whatever it may be. There is something he withheld in his recounting of the events surrounding M. Robert's death. With this instinctive knowledge, she relaxes into his embrace. By her doing so, he adjusts his hold to one more loving than desperate, finally releasing her, dropping his arms and turning away.

"I am sorry," he says. "That was not appropriate. I do not know what came over me."

"What is it? You are cold as ice, I felt your trembling." Taking his hand she leads him to her bed to sit down, taking a seat next to him. "What did you not tell me earlier? Something happened to you." Taking his chin in her hand, she turns his head to face her.

His hazel eyes are bright with tears – filled with fear and anguish.

 _For whom?_ She wonders.

"Erik saved my life today," Nadir says. "Why that should be a shock, I do not know. I am so accustomed to protecting him, watching out for him – like my child."

Taking both of his hands in hers, she leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Tell me."

"My life has been at risk many times. Living under the control of the Shah was living in fear of imminent death for any misstep – I was extremely fortunate that I was not killed when I set Erik free. This was different." Shifting his position, he puts his arm around her, kissing her temple. "You smell like your Ivory soap – you look to be someone who would choose patchouli or some dark spicy fragrance, but, no, just fresh, clean soap."

"In this city, sometimes a clean smell is more valuable than an Oriental oil," she retorts. Nuzzling closer to him, she kisses his neck, then returns her head to shoulder. "Tell me."

"I opened the door, not knowing what I would find – just that Christine was terrified and I felt Erik needed help – knew I had to be there for him. What I did not see in my intuitive vision was that I would ultimately be the reason for his distress. His plan was for me to wait for his word – much of the plan consisted of him giving directions with his vocal tricks. He wanted to be the target – wanted everyone else to be safe."

Adele sits upright, shifting her position to see his face. "And he gave no such direction to you – to assist him?"

Nadir shakes his head. "He would use the lasso, as he had with Raoul on the rooftop, to incapacitate Robert – then he would call me and I would handcuff Robert – again, as we did with Raoul."

"But you burst through the door, altering the situation."

"Robert's was the face of true madness. I do not know if the mirrors crazed him – they were known to have that effect – or simply made what was already present worse. His eyes were full of hate, such as I have never seen. As cruel as the Shah could be, he was sane. The gun was pointed at my face. We did not consider that he might have a gun. I heard the pistol cock. Closing my eyes, I said a brief prayer to Allah – preparing to die."

Adele's breath catches in her throat. "Erik stopped him?"

"Yes," he replies. "There was no gunshot – I was alive. When I opened my eyes, they were scuffling on the floor. I pulled my own gun, but they were entangled, so shooting would be too much of a risk," he says, shaking his head. "Then there was a shot and a cry that I knew was Erik's."

"But he was all right…"

"He was alive," he says, correcting her. "They both struggled to stand – Robert got his footing first and was now directing the gun at Erik. I aimed, not knowing if my bullet would reach Robert before his pierced Erik's head. Then shots rang out from another revolver."

"Monique?"

"Yes. Robert was dead and we were blessedly safe – not through any of our own behaviors or meticulous plans. Still, we were safe."

Adele stands up, her back to him, she unbuttons her bodice, removing the blouse to reveal her corset and chemise. "Could you assist me? I think we need to take pleasure in our lives right now." Her bustle, then skirt fall to the floor.

"The children?" He asks, unlacing her corset.

"I do not care, let them wonder," she says, turning to him, she returns the kiss he gave her earlier, now understanding his intensity. "I am not certain I could survive losing you. If the children are offended in some way that I want to appreciate your love, it is a problem for them to deal with."

* * *

Meg and Giselle lead a scrubbed and fragrant Monique, wrapped in Meg's chenille robe, from the bathroom – her coppery hair still damp from her toilette. "I feel like royalty," she giggles. "To what do I owe this special attention?"

"You seemed particularly affected by the accident at the theater, perhaps due to seeing your captor again. Having encountered him myself, I understand," Giselle responds. "In any event, we wanted to make you feel special."

Darius carries a tray from the kitchen – teapot, cups and saucers and a plate of meringues, enough for the four of them – and sets it on the dining room table. "I prepared chamomile tea," he says. "We have all suffered a challenging day and this will calm us. As for the meringues, I hope they are all right to serve."

Giselle helps Monique to her seat, then sits next to her on the window seat. Meg and Darius take the two chairs. Meg hosting – pouring the tea.

"They are Maman's, she tends to hoard them – I am surprised you found them – but I should think it will be fine. We have been going through our treats rather quickly these days, I fear," she pats her stomach. "Maman has commented on my weight, says I have not been working off all the macarons I have been eating. In any event, I suspect that she will not be noticing since she is otherwise engaged." Her eyes drift to the closed door to her mother's bedroom and giggles.

"M. Khan almost died today," Darius tells her, taking her hand. "He likely just informed her of this."

"I did not know," Meg gasps, "How? Who? M. Robert?

Giselle shakes her head at Meg – indicating Monique with her eyes. "Let us not speak of what happened – I for one am still quite rattled."

"Did M. Robert point the gun at M. Khan? Is that why he fought with M. Erik?" Monique asks. "That is what Mme. Christine told me."

"I believe that Giselle is correct – perhaps we should save this conversation for another time. I am sorry I introduced it," Darius say. "My apologies to all of you."

"No. I want to talk about what happened," Monique insists. "I was there and I do not remember anything." She reaches her hand across the table to him.

He pats her hand lightly, then removes it quickly.

"I recall leaving Raoul's house and walking to the Opera House. I entered the stage door and then I heard Mme. Christine sing her song," she says slowly, pulling her own hand back – staring in front of her, recalling the scene in her mind's eye. "The plan was for her to walk to the mirrors when told Robert was there. If that happened, then everyone else was instructed to leave or hide."

Meg nods. "That is what we were all told. You remember that, Darius, do you not?"

Darius exchanges a look with Giselle, who shrugs. "Yes," he says, "best we all know the facts. What do you recall, Monique?"

"He must have been there – she walked through the tunnel." Her pale eyes search each of theirs – Meg's deep blue, Giselle's brown and Darius' hazel-green, all waiting for something – for her? Why? "Of course he was there. I saw him…on the floor…dead." Her heart feels heavy in her chest and breathing becomes difficult. "Oh."

"Are you all right?" Giselle asks, holding the cup to Monique's lips. "You are becoming stressed. Please drink some of the tea."

The offer is refused.

Monique presses her fingertips into her scalp, tapping her forehead, trying to awaken her memory. "I saw him follow Mme. Christine." Her eyes find Darius' face, a small frown creasing his brow, then search the room, trying to see through the darkness of her memory. "She was safe. I saw her run past the dressing room. The doll was there." Pressing her thumb against her lips, she gnaws on the nail.

"He continued to follow her." She nods excitedly, the events coming back more rapidly now. "Yes, that is when M. Khan was in danger. Robert had a gun. He pointed it at M. Khan. M. Erik leaped out from behind a curtain. They fought. The gun went off. Once. Just once." She turns to Meg for confirmation.

Meg shakes her head. "I do not know." Pain is limned on her face – for her friend, for herself.

Monique turns to Giselle.

"Yes. Just once."

" _I_ know," she asserts. "They got up. Both of them got up. Robert pointed the gun at M. Erik. He was bleeding. He had no weapon."

Tears pour down her cheeks. "Oh, God. I shot him. I had Raoul's gun. _I_ shot him. _I_ killed him," she wails, head thrown back, her frail body wracked with sobs. "No."

Giselle wraps her arms around her. "Shush, shush. It is all right," she says, rocking her gently.

Adele and Nadir rush into the room – both garbed in dressing gowns – hair mussed, faces still flushed from their lovemaking.

"What has happened?" Nadir asks.

Adele rushes to join Giselle in comforting Monique.

"I remember," the girl tells her, grasping the older woman's robe. "I remember."

"That is good, Monique," Adele comforts her. "I am happy you remember." Taking the girl's shoulders, looking her directly in the eye. "The most important thing to remember is that you saved Erik's life."

Monique swallows hard, surveilling the faces of those around her, she sees confirmation of Adele's words. The tears soften along with the smile that hesitantly appears on her trembling lips. Looking down, attempting to recall for herself that this is the truth. She nods and says, "Yes, I suppose I did – that gives me such joy."

"But?" Nadir asks.

"But, that is not why I shot him," she admits.

"Monique?" Meg exclaims.

Darius places a hand on her shoulder.

"I wanted him dead. I took Raoul's gun so that I could kill him." Her voice devoid of emotion. "I remember all of it now." A deep sigh is released. "I am happy, so happy that M. Erik is safe. That all of us are now safe from him." To Nadir, she says, "What now?"

"The police?" He shakes his head. "Nothing. It is officially recorded as an accident," he tells her – tells all of them. "As far as the police are concerned, it is over."

Monique nods, then falls against Giselle, exhausted from her recollections and confession, relieved of her worst fear. "I am not certain I deserve that. Poor Raoul, must feel terrible."

"Raoul will be fine, do not concern yourself with him now," Giselle tells her.

"I gave him leave to visit you tomorrow – if that is not satisfactory, I can advise him in the morning," Nadir says.

Monique brightens. "That is fine. He meant no harm. He was only trying to protect me. I do love him – I just do not know how to get past what happened – both the abduction and what happened last night."

"We still intend to investigate the burning of the Boscherville House and the property surrounding the Inn," Nadir says. "We expect to find evidence against him in the abuse and, who knows what else, of other women."

"That does not expiate what I did."

"You must take this up with God, Monique," Adele pats the girl's hand. "We shall go to church and you shall go to confession, it may ease your soul and your conscience."

"But I am not sorry – how can I ask absolution if I am not sorry?"

"Then we wait until you decide what you need to do," Adele says. "As for us, we love you and we are grateful to you. If Raoul wants to be a man and be welcome here, he will feel the same."

"Thank you," Monique says. "That must serve me for now – until I can straighten all of this out in my own head and heart." She shifts in her seat. "I think I should like to go to bed now."

"Of course," Adele gets up and allows Monique to rise from the window seat.

"Do you want some company until you fall asleep?" Giselle asks. "After which I will take my leave. Living so close is such a relief."

"Yes, I think I would," Monique smiles. "I suspect Madame and M. Khan might like to retire as well – and it appears that Meg is longing for some time with our wonderful Darius."

"That is not true," Meg argues, blushing and side-eyeing him, so that everyone knows she is lying.

Darius simply lowers his eyes, long, dark lashes dusting the tops of his cheeks.

"Go, spend some time with him. Giselle and I will talk of dance and theater and silly things," Monique insists. "I, too am happy that Veronique offered you a place to stay."

The two women leave the dining room and close the bedroom curtain behind them.

"Take a walk, you two," Adele tells her daughter and the quiet Persian gentleman. "Nadir and I are going to have a cup of tea and finish the meringues you pilfered from their hiding place in my cupboard."

"Madame, I am sorry, I thought…" Darius mumbles.

"I am making a joke, Darius," Adele smiles at him. "You did nothing wrong – well, not too wrong. Now, go."

* * *

Raoul precedes Phillippe into the library. His mood frantic, clenching and unclenching his fists. "I need to do something for her."

"Leave her alone for now," Phillippe insists. "She is receiving what she needs from her friends."

"I am her friend," Raoul insists.

"Sit down and get a grip on yourself," Phillippe orders. "Pacing like a caged lion will get you nothing."

"She killed him with my gun."

"Yes, she did. How does your tantrum change that?" Phillipe says. "No one cares about you or your feelings right now, Raoul. Can you not understand that?"

"They all hate me."

"No one hates you. No one is even thinking about you, except me." His eyes roll to the ceiling.

"You want to be rid of me?" Raoul sneers. "I am a burden."

"Stop it." Phillippe grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him. "Stop this behavior. If you want to help her, learn something that will benefit her. She has been roughly treated and acted out of a deep pain. She has no ability to help you deal with your guilt."

Raoul falls onto the couch. "What can I do?"

"I do not know," Phillippe says, sitting down next to him, putting an arm around his brother's shoulders. "But we shall figure this out together. M. Khan suggested you visit her tomorrow – start there."

"I am sorry, Phillippe."

"I know."

* * *

Meg pulls her cloak tightly around her – still in her ballet costume, the light wool cape is her only protection from a late spring breeze that comes up to tousle her hair.

Darius puts a protective arm around her. "Are you quite warm enough? We could stop at a café if you do not care to walk."

"No," she says, "the air feels fresh and clean with the bit of wind. It gets so stuffy inside and walking is good… Oh, Darius, I feel such a fool, such a stupid little fool."

"Meg, sweet girl, why?"

"Just that – you called me a girl. I am almost as old as the others, but everyone treats me as a child."

"You are innocent – that is quite different from being foolish or stupid or a child."

"All I can remember of today is people giving me looks or telling me to be quiet."

They reach one of the public benches situated under one of the trees that line the street. "Let us stop here," Darius says, allowing her to sit before situating himself next to her, draping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "Do you recall when I told you I thought you were honest and how much I admired that about you?"

"Yes. Yes, I do." She nods, her frown turning into a smile.

"Because of the state of Monique's feelings, that she did not remember what had happened, some of us felt it might not be wise to remind her."

"She became very angry with me when I put her off when she wanted to talk about what M. Robert did to her. Now everyone became angry with me when I tried to find out what happened," she looks at him, her azure eyes wide, confused.

"I think you just need to continue being Meg – even if sometimes other people do not approve of what you say," he tells her. "As it turns out, speaking of what happened made her feel better."

"That is true!" Her spirits revived.

"So worrying about what others think may not be the wisest thing to do," he concludes.

"I only care what you think," she says. "Maman will love me no matter what. Christine and Uncle Erik, too. At least I believe that is true."

"I believe so, too," he laughs. "What about M. Khan? Would he still love you."

"He had better or Maman will be displeased!" She chortles. "So, that leaves you," Not looking at him, her small hands fussing with her cloak. "I could not bear it if you thought I was silly or stupid."

"You shall not have to bear anything of the sort," he says, lifting her chin to look at him. "You are my sweet girl – yes, girl – do not be so anxious to be worldly."

"But…"

"In good time, I have my own anxieties to deal with and must prevail upon your goodwill and patience with me."

"Is it so hard to love me?"

"It is too easy – I do not wish to disappoint you."

"Well, how will we know unless we try?"

Darius bursts out laughing. "That seems to be a valid argument. So much for you being stupid – although this relationship might be considered foolish by some."

"I only want to kiss you – that is not foolish – that is wise – at least _I_ think it is," she smirks. "Would you kiss me again – like you did when we went to the café?"

He leans into her, cupping her cheek with his hand. Gently pressing his lips to hers, he releases a sigh, wrapping his other arm around her, bringing her closer to him.

Meg, in response, tilts her head slightly to the right, opens her lips, feeling him return her invitation. Reaching up with her hand, she touches his cheek.

Breaking away, they both swallow and look down. Darius touches his forehead to hers. "We shall have to do that more often – you seem quite adept already."

"Oh…Christine and I used to kiss the back of our hands to practice," she giggles. "It is far more fun kissing you, though. I think that now would be a good time to continue our lessons."

"I agree. You are a most admirable instructress."

* * *

"That song was lovely, can you translate it?" Erik asks.

 _Alone I walk on paths I know_ _  
_ _Looking for a friendly face_

 _Alone I walk on paths I know_ _  
_ _Looking for a friendly face_

 _I look to meet him once again_ _  
_ _The one whose love is in my heart_

 _I want to see you once again_ _  
_ _And dance again with you my love._

"A friendly face…" Kissing her lightly on the tip of her upturned nose, Erik continues his story. "When I heard the gun go off and felt the bullet enter my arm, I was so grateful the shot had missed anything significant. I could not easily stand up – the fighting having taken its toll on me. Struggling for my footing, I saw him from the corner of my eye – the gun pointed at my head – all I could think of was you. There was the series of gunshots. Giselle seemed to come from nowhere to fly at Robert's legs. Nadir had his gun and I thanked God for both of them when he fell at my feet."

"It is over," Christine says, "Now kiss me, my husband – my love." She brings her lips to his, their mouths finding the special way they fit together, their tongues teasing, first his, then hers. She loves being inside of him. Their bodies naturally adjust for the most physical contact, seeking to meld into one being.

His left hand glides down her back, resting on her hip. An attempt to lift his right arm to join the left in caressing her fails, the pain is too great. "Damn."

"Not to worry, my darling, I shall take care of everything. You need only lay back and relax," she chuckles softly.

"May I ask a favor?" He whispers, so quietly his voice is barely audible.

"Of course. You are still so shy about your needs. What would you like from your wife?"

"Could we just…kiss? He asks. "When I thought I might not survive tonight – my only wish was to kiss you once more." His fingers graze her cheek, stroking it with his thumb. "Your kisses gave me life once before – I need them now as well, I believe."

"Then you shall have all the kisses you may think you want and more."

* * *

 **A/N – The song is a traditional folk song called "I Walk Alone and Wander Here." There was no citation for the composer.**


	2. Revelations

REVELATIONS

Dr. Gerard's office is on the ground floor of one of the buildings on Rue Rivoli, not too far from their new apartment. The waiting room is entered directly from the street, walls papers in a pale green floral motif with a settee at either end, next to the windows that overlook the street. A large Oriental carpet in greens and blues covers most of the wooden floor. Centering the room is a large antique desk, with matching cabinet on either side. Behind the desk are two doors.

Feeling the intense stare of the middle-aged woman, dark brown hair threaded with gray escaping her mop cap, sitting behind the desk, Erik risks taking his eyes from the window where he has struggled to keep his focus since Christine was called in to see Dr. Gerard, to return her gaze.

Noticing him noticing her, the nurse adjusts her pince-nez and returns to shuffling the papers on her desk.

Comfortable that she will now keep her eyes to herself, he returns to counting the branches on the shrub that obstructs the view of the street. However uncomfortable it is to maintain this posture, it does allow him to show the "good" side of his face to anyone who cares to look at him. His gambler hat, is on his lap, so the usual means of distraction from the mask in unavailable. His right arm is in a sling that Christine created from one of her more sedate scarves – a deep burgundy with a royal blue plaid. That, too, faces the wall and he is grateful that both of his present infirmities are not easily observed.

" _It is only good manners for a man to remove his head wear. Your wig looks perfectly fine,"_

" _To you, perhaps. There are too many people here and too much sunlight for my comfort."_

" _I know this bothers you. As for the number of people, there is only the nurse - and it is only for a short period."_

The front door opens and a young woman in what appears, to his untrained eye, to be in the later stage of pregnancy. Someone of property, if her black, polka dot dress with lace bib are any indication, obviously custom made to suit her. On her heels is an older woman – her mother, he presumes – again clothed in a dress of quality fabric. Women's fashion is not his forte, but he knows cloth and cut. The determination of their relationship alters as he looks at them more closely. The younger woman has hair of a washed out blonde hair color – while the older is a brunette. Her heavy determined jawline denies her any real beauty, but some might consider her handsome. The girl, on the other hand, has a classic oval face of perfect proportions. They are not aware of him, so he takes the opportunity to indulge his curiosity by eavesdropping as the mother speaks to the receptionist.

"Marie-Corrinne Arnault has an appointment with Dr. Perdue," she announces.

The girl, rolling her eyes, gives in to the anxiety than has her wringing her hands and shifting from one foot to the other. "Madame, I can deal with Nurse Patrice – I am the one with child and it is my appointment. You are here due to your insistence and my good graces."

"Dr. Perdue is not available today, I am afraid," the nurse says. "Dr. Gerard will be able to see Mlle. Arnault in his stead. We are so very sorry for the inconvenience."

"But I am…familiar with Dr. Perdue," the girl responds. "I need to see him."

"I am sorry, he has taken the flu and did not wish to pass it along to his patients. He will be back in a week's time. However, Dr. Gerard is a wonderful doctor."

"Please set up an appointment for next week, then."

"No. We are here now. What does it matter?"

"It matters to me," the girl is near tears. "He is helping me."

"Who do you think is going to deal with the outcome of this…adventure of yours?" By turning to speak to the girl, she sees Erik, who judiciously re-directs his gaze back to the window. "Let us not make a scene. This is a public place after all." To Nurse Patrice she says, "We shall be happy to see Dr. Gerard." In a stage whisper, she asks the nurse, "Since when do men see lady's doctors?"

Glancing over to Erik before returning her gaze to the elder Arnault, or whatever _her_ name is, the nurse smiles and responds, "Dr. Gerard is a general practitioner, Madame, which many of our families appreciate."

The comment is rewarded by Erik's smirk.

"Harrumph." Grabbing the young woman's wrist, she pulls her to the settee at the opposite side of the room from him.

Reaching the point where he feels he cannot sit still much longer, the door behind the nurse to his left opens to the private world, where Dr. Gerard led Christine what seems like hours before. The doctor reappears.

"M. Saint-Rien," Gerard says in a cheerful tone. "Please come with me." Addressing the two women, he says, "I shall be with you as soon as I can, ladies."

"Not a problem, Dr. Gerard," the mother says, "we appreciate your seeing us since Dr. Perdue is unavailable."

"Yes, an inconvenience – had we known earlier, we could have sent you a message, but only found out but an hour ago."

Returning his attention to Erik, he beckons him with his hand. "Come, come." Then leads him through the door into a short hallway. The stairway to the first floor and above is on the right, with three closed doors on the left – he directs Erik to the first one – his office.

"Did you quite survive your wait, darling?" Christine smiles, holding out her hand.

Her face is pale, cheeks flushed, eyes the color of a clear mountain stream are rimmed in red – an odd confluence. He cocks his head at her. _What happened during her examination?_ Although he feels the rage rising within him, he holds his temper at bay, deciding to wait before assuming the worst. He takes the proffered hand and takes a seat in the chair next to her.

"How is your arm fairing? I should like to look at it once we are finished discussing Madame's condition. I must say it is most unusual for the husband to take part in these meetings, I find your interest refreshing."

"My arm is doing well – thank you for the care you gave me yesterday. It will no doubt become just one among those scars my body already carries, but you are certainly welcome to check the injury. Christine told me that you had questions about my scars and my mask. My face has been covered in one manner or another all my life – from birth. Feel free to ask any questions you wish."

"In good time, I am not interested in prying into your life, but your presence suggests that you may have questions about…"

"Passing whatever this," indicating the mask "which has been my fate, can be passed along to our child."

"Erik, he only wants to help." Christine reaches to take his hand back into hers.

"Then let us discuss my wife's condition – her faces suggests that her time here has been less than pleasant."

* * *

" _That should do it," Dr. Gerard said as walked to the sink to wash his hands._

 _During the examination, she lay on her side, facing the wall, despite the sheet that covered most of her still clothed body, her naked backside was exposed to him. Using firm but gentle fingers, he spread the entry to her private area allowing him to insert an instrument into her vagina. This, he advised her, was a speculum._

 _With a gasp, her body tightened at the intrusion, tears filling her eyes. The embarrassment at exposing herself to a man other than Erik was equally disturbing. The doctor was simply doing his job – there was no malice or suggestive behavior in his actions, yet she felt deeply uncomfortable bordering on shame. The talk was that many men objected to women seeing men for birthing needs due to their fear the women would enjoy the visits so much they would ignore their husbands. Christine was fully ready to contest that point of view._

" _I am sorry, Madame, this tool allows me to see if there is any disease or other problems developing inside you that we may need to address before you deliver. I shall attempt to make this as easy on you as I am able."_

 _Christine focused her eyes on the wall, painted a dull beige, and found, to her surprise, a painting of a landscape at her eye level. While not a complete distraction, she was pleased at the consideration. When he withdrew the implement, she was relieved to get down from the examination table, tossing off the sheet that covered her, to duck behind the screen. Replacing her drawers and petticoats that he requested she remove before the examination, she put the pale blue and gray striped linen skirt to order and stepped out._

 _Maintaining his station at the sink, he allowed her time to right herself._

 _Christine cleared her throat to announce that she was ready to proceed further with their interview._

 _Continuing to avoid her face, he walked to the door, saying, "Shall we go to my office? You will find that room more hospitable, I am certain."_

 _Well appointed, but not overly furnished, the office holds a bookcase against one wall, a cabinet that looked similar to those Erik purchased for the Phantom Security office to hold files, A number of framed certificates line the wall above the cabinet._ _A swivel chair sat behind the desk with two leather arm chairs facing, he offered Christine the one on the left._

 _He took his seat behind the desk, opening a small paper book. "May I ask your age, Madame?"_

" _I shall be 20 years on 20 May, I was born in a small town outside of Stockholm, Sweden."_

" _I wondered at your accent."_

" _The two languages do not blend easily – I was fortunate that my father played violin and we were a musical family thus being able to know bits of several languages by learning operatic pieces – French, Italian, German."_

" _I should like the opportunity to hear you sing, I am told you are very special."_

 _Christine flushed at the compliment. "Thank you – my husband is my teacher, taking what was considered a modestly good voice and turning it into something that you say is special," she said. "HANNIBAL reopens tomorrow and we would be pleased for you and a guest attend a performance at your convenience."_

" _Thank you – my wife will be thrilled when I tell her – she is quite the buff," he responded. "Now to the reason you are here…according to what you have told me and my examination, you are about eight weeks into your term. In another month you will be able to see a distention of your abdomen. The current rounding of your body has more to do with the cessation of your dancing and changing your diet. In other words, you are heavier, but healthier than you may have been when you were first married."_

 _She looks down at herself. "Oh, my. I suppose I need to be careful about sweets then?"_

" _That would be wise."_

* * *

"Come," Nadir responds to the knock on the door of the Phantom Security office. His suit coat and cravat hang from the coat tree just inside the door. A sheaf of papers are scattered on his desk in an attempt to bring some order back into his life. Filing, organizing, making notes always had a calming effect on him. Reasoned, thoughtful assessing of situations – law and order – were his comfort. He often wondered how it was that he and Erik were so close – Erik loved to make plans – but much of his behavior was created impromptu based on some instinct or whim that took him over – perhaps that was the key – their differences. One would never find Erik doing paperwork during a time when he was ostensibly supposed to be resting.

Erik was not resting either, though – as he understood it, he went to the doctor with Christine – taking care of business in his own way. Nadir wanted to discuss Monique's memory return with him, but all in good time, he supposed. So many things disrupted needing to be put back together again.

"M. Khan?" Darius says, closing the door softly behind him. "Do you have a moment?"

"Of course." Nadir's mood brightens immediately at the sight of his former servant, stylishly decked out in a gray wool suit, a sign of his new position with the firm. Another idea of Erik's that he had never considered for the young eunuch.

* * *

 _He was leaving with the Shah's permission – even so, Nadir's intuition informed him that despite his acquiescence, the monarch was not entirely pleased when Nadir asked to be released from service and leaving Mazandaran as quickly as possible was in his best interests._

 _After Erik's escape and "death," an event the Shah never seemed completely reconciled to, there was a chasm between them. That had been over two, close to three decades before – Nadir had been able to continue in his position as daroga, albeit without the property he had accumulated, and he had his life._

" _I do not feel that I can continue to do my work for you as well as was done in the past. Old injuries have slowed me down and my eyes are not what they might be. I long to travel – the tales of your adventures in Europe have me curious…" He had no idea how the Shah would respond to this selfish wish, but continuing to live in this country that was all he had ever known, with the exception of the trip to the Asias to find Erik, was becoming cloying and impossible. Too many memories, both good and bad, with no hope for the future._

" _I should be sorry to see you go, my friend," the Shah said. "Yes, I consider you a friend. With the exception of the incident with the architect, I have never doubted you. Even that seems but a distant memory and I find it difficult to believe that there was doubt even then."_

" _Thank you – I have only wished to serve you as you deserved," Nadir replied. As he suspected, Erik's escape continued to be an irritant. Yes, removing himself might finally allow the wound to heal – for both of them. There would never be a time in the Shah's presence without remembering the brilliant young man for whom he risked his own life._

" _Where do you think you would like to go?"_

" _Paris, perhaps. London. I am not certain. My French is better than my English, but either would be fascinating and would allow me to visit other countries."_

" _As a gift, I should like to give you the eunuch of your choice. There are a number of younger ones that might serve you well. A few have learned the languages you know."_

" _Thank you, highness," Nadir said, pleased and surprised at the gesture. Young Darius had been helpful to him recently. His work in the harem had been impeccable and he exhibited himself to be a leader. In his secret heart, the boy reminded him of Reza – there was a sweet, gentleness about him. He felt peace when the young man was around. To have him as a companion was more than he might have wished._

" _You have someone in mind?"_

" _There are two who are possible – Darius and Kahreem." Showing no preference was decided to be the best approach._

" _I think Darius would suit you better – Kahreem does not have the calm personality that seems to appeal to you. Darius also has a better knowledge of the languages," the Shah said – making the decision Nadir had hoped for._

" _Darius it is then," he says. "I shall advise the harem master."_

" _When would you like to leave?"_

" _By the next full moon, if that is acceptable."_

" _Then it is so."_

 _Nadir thanked Allah for his good fortune. When he told Darius of the changes that would be taking place in both of their lives, his hazel eyes lit up and the barest of smiles crossed his full lips. "We will be leaving Persia?"_

" _Yes."_

" _Allah heard my prayers."_

" _You were praying to leave."_

" _I was praying for freedom."_

" _Yes."_

" _Thank you, daroga."_

" _We have time, but best to be prepared."_

 _They would leave within the week. The Shah was on a journey and not due to return before the full moon, so they took the opportunity to leave during his absence. No sense in tempting fate._

* * *

Erik listens closely as the doctor speaks.

"Madame told me that she stopped tightly lacing her corset after a recent accident, since she was seated or reclining much of the time – sometimes discarding it entirely. This is a good idea. Many women insist on continuing to wear this undergarment, but I am of the opinion that they are not helpful," he says, studying Erik's response to this information. Most husbands have the ridiculous idea that their wives bodies are not going to change, despite having a new life growing inside of them. Not surprisingly, Erik shows no emotion. Even if his entire face was visible, Dr. Gerard suspects Erik would present a neutral façade – his eyes being the only give-away. _Ut imago est animi voltus sic indices oculi._

"The mood swings and craving for unusual foods – I understand that herring and macarons are her favorites – are quite normal," he continues. "Although cutting back on the sweets will prevent too great a weight gain as the baby begins to grow."

"I prefer her natural figure and am perfectly content with her not looking like an hourglass. Those women must be extremely uncomfortable and I cannot believe it is healthy for them or any children they hope to bear. As for the sweets…I fear I am at her mercy."

 _So he does have a sense of humor._

"He said that the baby will arrive just before Christmas, that I can sing as long as I like, just not to get too tired," Christine adds. "And to avoid excitement – something that might be a bit of a challenge if the recent past is anything to judge."

Although there is no indication of such on his mouth, Erik's eyes smile at her words.

"If you are wondering about my practice and why I was the doctor called yesterday – I also practice general medicine with a partner – we share this office. Obstetrics, while not new, is still not completely accepted – men being in the room while a child is being born is still considered unseemly. I do utilize an excellent midwife and prefer home births to lying in at hospital. Despite efforts to contain infections, and breakthroughs in antiseptics, hospitals still have more incidents than home births," he concludes. "Now, do you have any questions for me?"

Erik releases his breath and turns to Christine, she shakes her head no. Turning to the doctor, making an assessment of this man to whom he was entrusting the health of his wife and his unborn child and might be a guide to understanding his own issues, he says, "Not at the moment. Do _you_ have any questions for _me_?"

* * *

"Why are you not enjoying your day off?" Nadir asks Darius. "This would be a perfect day to spend strolling in the Bois with Meg."

"I might ask you the same question regarding Madame Giry," Darius smirks, taking a seat in the visitor's chair next to the partner's desk.

"Touche," Nadir laughs. "She is actually working in her office – so in a sense we are together – both doing what we do best – creating order from chaos."

"Meg is doing some exercises with other members of the troupe. Monique wanted to work out and Meg thought it would be a good idea if she went with her."

"That was wise of her – to be honest, I would not have thought her to think of that."

Darius raises an eyebrow at his response. "Actually, she did not – it was my idea. We were going to walk, as you suggested, in the Bois. When I arrived at the flat, Monique was in her rehearsal clothes and said she was coming here. I suggested that perhaps Meg might like to accompany Monique."

"How did Meg react to that?" Nadir leans back in his chair, toying with his pencil.

"At first she seemed a bit upset, but then understood my intention. After which she became excited over the idea," Darius says. "This is what I wished to speak to you about."

"I am not an expert on women…" Nadir sputters.

"No, perhaps not, but you do know Meg," Darius says.

"Perhaps you best speak to me, Darius," Adele states as she enters the office, closing the door behind her. "Have you made tea?" she asks Nadir.

"Yes, there is a fresh pot on the hutch," Nadir replies. "I am sorry, Darius, did you want a cup?"

"Sit," Adele tells him going to the fixings and preparing two cups for herself and Darius.

"I meant no offense to Meg, Madame."

"And I took none," Adele says, handing him a cup of tea, and taking her cup to the chaise and sits down. "The amount of paperwork seems to never let up. I am not certain that the muscles in my brain are as talented as those in my body. I feel we criticized the Managers a little too quickly." Kicking her shoes off, she lifts her legs onto the chaise and reclines, carefully balancing her cup on her stomach. "My beautiful and talented daughter is…simple."

"Excuse me," Darius says.

"She is innocent and not very intelligent. Her heart is good, but she is still very much a child in many ways and can be thoughtless unless someone directs her," Adele explains. "I assume that is what your concern is and why you wished to speak to someone about her. Nadir is too much of a gentleman to speak of her in the way I just did."

"Meg did say that if he did not love her when she said something out of school, you would be upset."

"Well, that shows she is not all that simple," Nadir chuckles. "She knows you quite well, I would say."

"Does that create a problem for you in courting her – I assume that is what you two have been doing?"

"We all know that I am not a complete man…"

"Physically, perhaps," Nadir interrupts him. "You are more of a man than a noble I could mention."

"Nevertheless. I have come to terms with what was chosen for me as a child – it was something I had no control over and I made the best of it. Coming here with you was the greatest gift I could have ever wanted. Whatever else I may have wanted in terms of a situation with a woman paled to freedom – especially now that I have this job."

"You are concerned that Meg will be disappointed?" Adele asks.

"Yes," he shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

"You can tell Adele anything, Darius, she is not a delicate flower."

Adele's brow wrinkles. "Is that so?"

"Well, perhaps a rose – lovely to look at, fragrant, but those thorns…"

"Hmmm," Taking a sip of her tea, she studies Darius with her dark eyes. "I doubt that would matter to her. In fact, she would probably be relieved."

"Truly?" he asks.

"Her dream man is someone who will protect her and kiss her – at least that is what she told me – perhaps not in that order. I suspect that if one thing led to another, and if one or both of you wanted to become more physical, you would work something out," she laughs. "That she is a child emotionally and not particularly bright is more the issue I would think."

"I just want to be enough for her."

"The important question is – what I believe Adele is suggesting, if I may be so bold – would she be enough for you?" Nadir asks, glancing at Adele to see if he overstepped his bounds.

"My advice is to take things as they come and not worry too much about things you cannot control. Meg adores you, partly because she is not afraid of you," Adele says. "The brief interplay she had with M. Robert terrified her. You are helping her heal from that."

Darius' face beams, he did not realize how much this was troubling him until it no longer seemed to be a problem.

"So you are good?" Nadir asks.

"Yes, I believe so."

"Then go to your lady," he tells him.

Darius bows slightly to both of them before leaving.

"Monique wanted to come here – Meg is with her now practicing. Perhaps we can intercede and take her home, the vicomte was invited to call this afternoon."

Adele sighs, "Then might we have a quiet dinner when our matchmaking services are no longer required?"

"Yes, perhaps Giselle would not mind spending some time with Monique."

"We can ask," Adele replies, putting her cup on the floor, she sits up. "What are your feelings about Darius and Meg?"

"Honest answer?"

"Of course."

"I do not know. However, the fact that he came to me suggests he has doubts – not simply about his manhood."

"Yes, that is my concern as well."

"Freedom is an interesting thing."

"That it is."

Getting up from his chair he walks to the chaise, kneeling down to pick up her shoes to place them on her feet.

"Cendrillon, am I?" Adele comments, holding out a foot for him.

"Only if I can be your Prince and you will marry me." The words fall from his mouth, seemingly without thought, but once said, he knows they are exactly right.

"Nadir!"

* * *

"While no one is ever prepared for what I will show you, I suspect you will handle this with some aplomb – priests and doctors tend to look at the underbelly of life without seeming to be shocked I have noticed." Erik carefully removes the mask, leaving the wig in place for the moment to give the doctor a chance to adjust.

"Yes, I see," his eyes squint slightly. Standing up, he walks around the desk to Erik. "May I look more closely?"

"Of course." He removes the wig revealing the separation of his skull protected by only a thick membrane and the ridge that still causes him pain on occasion.

"May I touch you?"

"Yes," Erik whispers, his heart beating heavily in his chest. Christine is the only person he has ever allowed this familiarity – interesting that this doctor should share private knowledge about both of them that they once only had with one another. He shifts his eyes to her as the doctor probes and presses different areas of his face and head.

 _I know,_ she mouths.

"Family history of any of this?"

"My parents were half-siblings – no one knew until my grandfather died. I found out when my mother passed from a family friend."

"So some possibility of genetic instability – any other inbreeding you are aware of?"

"Several generations back – six or seven – the church outlawed it and the family adhered to the ruling as far as I know. The marriage of my parents was a fluke – my grandfather was too much of a coward to stop the marriage – judging from Bible entries, the older generations restricted their urges to cousins."

"I do not know how much of that might have contributed to your face." He brushes Erik's hair away from the ridge. "What I suspect here is a skull fracture that never healed properly."

"That has always been my suspicion as well. My mother threw me against a wall just after I was born."

"That would explain this – you are fortunate to have survived. A baby's bones are quite soft so fractures are actually rare if they fall or are dropped accidentally. The skull is quite strong and it actually healed relatively well. Any pain?"

"Yes, occasionally."

"Do you take anything?"

"I used to inject morphine, but stopped that…"

"Indeed? That was quite a challenge."

"Yes. Now I use willow bark tincture, perhaps a bit of laudanum or some brandy. I never mix them. There are things in life that are best left alone once you rid yourself of the hold they had on you. When the pain seems to be too much, I remind myself of those days breaking the addiction. Walking over hot coals would be preferable."

Dr. Gerard nods, taking measure of the man in front of him. An eyebrow raises and a small smile bends his lips."Do you know if it was a breech birth – delivered feet first? Or you could have been turned and a forceps used to help with the delivery?"

"I know it was breech, Pere Mansart told me that much – I do not know if I was turned, as you say – or whether forceps were used. There was a midwife – no doctor that I am aware of – at least not at the actual time of birth."

"The midwife might have attempted to turn you and used forceps – it was not unheard of, although most midwives would not take that risk. Your mother wore corsets?"

"Yes. As I said, I do not understand the desire for those contraptions, but many women seem devoted to them – slaves of fashion, some might call them."

Christine chuffs at Erik's use of the expression.

His eyes brighten at her again, he emits a low chuckle.

Dr. Gerard appreciates the private joke between them – whatever concerns he may have had about the couple's compatibility dissolves. Time and experience have shown him time and time again that the couples who seem the most misbegotten are often the strongest. They talk without having to speak out loud.

"This is just a supposition – I have not seen this level of damage before, although deformities have been known to happen with forceps – cuts and bruises – bones broken, occasional nerve damage, possible issues with the eyes not aligning. Forceps are often placed next to the ears. The combination of your position in the womb, being compressed by the corset, could have created the issue with your mouth.

"Another thought is that some damage occurred after you were born, some caustic substance, perhaps used to sterilize the forceps or to cleanse any wounds caused by their use. The damage to your cheek – some of the scars – I have no other words for the damage to your skin – appear to be from burns. Cautery was often used to seal wounds to prevent infection. If the forceps were used improperly and cautery introduced, we might have some sort of answer for the alteration of your face.

"From my understanding of intermarriage – the children are generally of a lower intelligence among other disabilities – this does not appear to have affected you," he concludes.

"If I am hearing you correctly, these birth defects may have been caused by the way I was carried inside my mother or events that occurred after the birth – not something that can be passed along to my progeny," Erik says, tentatively, holding back the surge of relief he feels inside.

"Other than some infection that did not heal properly – again postpartum, I know of nothing intrinsically organic that might have caused the distortions you present."

Christine laughs, releasing her bated breath, tears welling in her eyes.

"I cannot promise that the inbreeding will not create any problems – some of this could be a combination of elements, but I should hope you would view the coming of this child with good cheer."

Erik can only stare – speechless, his own tears flowing down his cheeks.

Christine's eyes flood as well. As they meet Erik's – the couple starts to laugh in both relief and joy.

Erik stands, helping her to her feet, he pulls her into his arms and kisses the top of her head. Swallowing hard, he says, "Thank you, doctor."

"I did nothing. Thank you for your courage in trusting me. Now how about my looking at that arm of yours?"

* * *

Dr. Gerard escorts them through the door to the waiting room.

Erik and Christine nod at the two women as they rise to follow the doctor to his office.

"Ladies," Erik says, tipping his hat.

The women nod after giving the couple a brief up and down.

Christine giggles. "My goodness, did you say something to them?"

"No, I just seem to have that effect on some people – you should know that," he responds, turning to look at the door behind them, now closed. Taking her arm, he ushers her out to the street.

"What is it?" Christine asks. "Something happened earlier?"

"Just some oddities – the nurse addressed the younger woman as mademoiselle and was not corrected. The young woman was not pleased the older woman was in attendance, however, it was suggested that the girl was in her debt. They were also appointed to see Dr. Perdue, who notified Dr. Gerard of his illness a short time earlier. The girl was very distressed about the change."

"You learned all this sitting in a corner across the room from them?"

"My hearing, as you well know is excellent and I was bored."

"What do you make of it?"

"I have no idea – it just struck me as odd was all."

Henri pulls the coach forward and Erik helps Christine inside. "Are you quite all right?"

"Are you?" She responds.

"I am so happy…yes, happy – and relieved that the information Dr. Gerard gave us was so positive." He pulls her closer to him on the bench. "We must celebrate. Macarons? Chocolate? Real food?"

"Hmm, I have a much better idea." Her kiss is sweet and the stroking of her hand along his cheek even sweeter. "Let us go home to remind ourselves how this blessed event came to be."

Erik picks up the lover's phone and says, "Henri, please take us home."

* * *

 **A/N - #1 In 1825, a French midwife called Marie Anne Boivin, invented a vaginal speculum that could be screwed into place and dilated the vagina to allow close examination of the cervix. Her invention evolved into the modern bivalve speculum. She made great contributions to medicine, discovering the cause of different types of bleeding, miscarriages and diseases of the uterus.**

 **Marion Sims is credited as "The Father of Gynecology." He was the first physician to successfully operate and cure a vesicovaginal fistula, a painful complication of childbirth where a hole grows between a woman's bladder and her vagina, leading to uncontrollable urinary and sometimes fecal incontinence. Several authors and researchers have attacked Sims's medical ethics, citing evidence suggesting that he carried out surgeries on black slave women without their consent and without anesthesia.**

 **By 1883, the year Sims died, he had established a worldwide reputation as a great surgeon and gynecologist. Statues of him and hospitals named after him can be found in New York and in South Carolina. There are also several uterine and vaginal surgical instruments that bear his name. (The position I used for Christine during her exam is called the "Sims position.")**

 **A/N - #2 Cicero (106-43 B.C.) Translation: The face is a picture of the mind as the eyes are its interpreter.**

 **A/N - #3 Cendrillon by Perrault 1697– French version of Cinderella.**


	3. Annunciations

ANNUNCIATIONS

Christine removes her bonnet and lays it on the counter along with her reticule, as Erik hangs his hat on a wall hook near the door. They turn to face one another and burst into joyous laughter, stumbling in their haste to embrace and kiss coming close to overturning the kitchen table.

"Stop. Stop," she cries. "I am getting dizzy."

Cupping her chin with his left hand, he kisses her softly, then more deeply. Dropping his arm to her waist, they sway back and forth. "You have blessed me with your love and I do not know how I can ever thank you sufficiently."

"Oh, my darling man, we have blessed each other," she replies pulling back a bit so that she can see his face, gently removing the mask. "This is about more than the baby, is it not?"

Dropping his arm, he turns away, unable to stem the tears that insist on falling. "You are too wise, my wife." Facing her again, he says, "Through all the years it never occurred to me to speak to a doctor. There were so few people in my life who accepted my face…in any event, I am so happy that you insisted I accompany you – that I allowed Dr. Gerard to examine me."

"Were you never curious? What have you thought all these years?" she asks, sitting down at the table. "That you were cursed – some sort of devil? In your own heart, you knew that to be untrue."

"When your mother despises you and wants you dead, it is very difficult to have faith in your own goodness," he responds, leaning against the counter.

"Yes, I suppose that makes sense – but others cared about and for you – Marie, Pere Mansart, most importantly, Sasha. Animals do not like unlikable people."

He chuckles. "Yes, Sasha was my mother, for all intents a purposes. It was she who cuddled and kissed me – listened as I played and sang. She made me human, such as I was."

"Dr. Gerard made some sense of the deformity…"

"Yes, the banality of what my mother chose to wear – an untrained person using a tool unwisely and trying to heal wounds in the only way she knew how."

"Does it make you angry? You have been so angry for so long, I hope this does not inflame you again."

"Surprisingly, no. I am relieved and happy that I have answers. Much of my anger stemmed from not knowing," he says. "I suspect my mother felt deep guilt, took her self-anger out on me. She truly was a pitiful creature."

"Can you forgive her?"

"In time, I suppose. Forgive, but not forget."

Getting up from the chair, she presses against him, laying her head on his chest. "What would you like to do now?" she asks. "I sense that you might want to share this with Nadir."

Stunned at her suggestion at first – he realizes that she is correct. Much as he would happily stay home with his bride, he feels a deep need to tell Nadir and Adele of this news, particularly Nadir. "You knew this before I did, but, yes. Would that offend you?"

"Oh, Erik, how could that possibly offend me? They are our family – I wish to share our good news with them as well. I have no doubt that our private celebration will be that much more loving knowing we have their support for you and for the baby."

* * *

"After the events of yesterday, I do not want to waste any more time not living in the way I wish. I love you and I believe you love me," Nadir tells Adele, finishing with her shoes and moving to the chaise to sit next to her. "So? What say you, Madame Giry? Will you marry me?"

"Yes," Adele whispers. "How could I say no? You are the light of my life."

"Is that so?"

"You make me laugh, you see the little girl in me that I thought was gone. I no longer wear black all the time and if my hair is not tightly bound, I am no longer concerned," she says. "That may not seem much to you, but it is quite a lot."

Taking her chin, turning her face to his – he kisses her, small, gentle kisses, forcing her to smile. "You also smile more these days. Such a pretty smile."

"Posh. What now?"

"Well, posting our banns…"

"No, I mean right now. What should we do? Darius has gone to get Meg and Monique."

"Yes, that is so…"

"But you want to tell Erik, do you not?"

"Yes, I want to tell Erik – there would be no us without him."

* * *

" _Stop. Nadir and Adele are talking."_

" _So?"_

" _I want to know what they are saying – wait just a bit."_

" _Erik, no. No more spying."_

" _I just…"_

" _No!_

" _I cannot hear if you keep talking."_

" _Then I shall just chatter and chatter and chatter because eavesdropping is rude."_

" _All right. All right."_

* * *

The mirror door to the office opens. Erik and Christine walk through, giggling like children.

"Did you hear any of that?" Nadir asks.

"Any of what?" Erik responds.

"Why are you giggling?"

"I am – we are happy. Why are you so suspicious? What did you not want me…us to hear?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Christine says. "We were giggling because of the good news we received at the doctor."

"What?" Adele asks.

Erik's grin, even partially covered by his mask, is so broad, that both Nadir and Adele realize they have never seen him quite so excited – even after Christine pledged herself to him. "The doctor examined my deformity and…"

"And?"

"He believes that a number of things contributed to it – but it most likely will not affect the baby at all."

"The inbreeding of your parents?" Nadir asks.

"Well, possibly, but only a small chance."

"Very small," Christine adds. "Let us sit down and you tell them everything." They settle on the new, dark brown couch brought in to complement the upholstered, gold and beige brocade settee Adele and Nadir are seated on. "Including his agreement with my suggestion that you not wear the wig so much, and to use my method for washing your hair."

Erik side-eyes her. "It would seem that you have already told them," he says. "Why could not the good doctor stay away from the hair issue? Lord knows he had enough to examine without commenting on my scalp," he groans. "What would you have me start with?"

"Corsets," answers Christine.

"Corsets?" Adele repeats. "I'm confused.

Erik explains – telling them the doctor's conclusions.

"Oh my, God," Adele says when he finishes. "So just poor care – both to your mother and you."

"A confluence of mishandling of almost everything to do with your coming into being," Nadir says. "I am so sorry."

"No." Erik waves him off. "No. It is what it is – I cannot keep harkening back to something where there was no real malefic intent. Stupidity and vanity – definitely, both my mother's and that of the midwife, if Dr. Gerard's assumptions are correct about the forceps and cautery."

"Excuse me, but where is Erik? Are you hiding him somewhere, Christine?" Adele feigns looking around the room.

"No," Christine chuckles. "But I can understand why you ask." She takes his hand in hers and beams at him. "We are just so happy and relieved that he finally knows his history and that our baby will likely be healthy."

Nadir looks at Adele. "We were actually trying to decide how to meet with you – to tell you some news of our own, when there you were – walking through the wall."

"What you thought I overheard?"

Nadir squints at him. "Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Overhear something?

"Stop it, Erik. Stop teasing him," Christine slaps his hand. "He heard nothing coming from the room because I would not allow it."

"I can presume, though." Erik points out.

"Let them tell us," Christine says. "You are impossible."

"We are getting married," Adele blurts out to stop the jousting. "We are getting married and the first person Nadir wanted to tell was you."

"Oh, how wonderful," Christine says, clapping her hands together. "Just now? You proposed just now?"

"A true romantic, sitting in the office doing paperwork," Erik snorts.

"Well excuse me for not being an impresario – creating dramatic scenes on stage in front of an audience of two thousand people," Nadir retorts.

"Touche and congratulations, my friend," Erik laughs. "With the exception of Christine's presence in my life and all the good things she has given to me – I could not be happier. This is possibly the happiest day of my life."

"Now _I_ am wondering if this is some stranger impersonating Erik."

"We must celebrate," Erik insists.

"Actually, we were just planning to go home," Adele says.

"Really?" Erik smirks, lifting his visible eyebrow.

"Not for that – behave yourself," Adele says. "This is definitely Erik." Her tone turns serious. "Monique came here today, Meg and Darius accompanied her so she would not be alone," she explains. "We were going to take her home so Meg and Darius could have some time together. Raoul is coming to see her."

The high energy experienced just a moment ago, dies.

"We must see to her – she is the reason I am even here right now," Erik says as he rises and starts walking to the door. "Let us find them and see what can be done to make her life happier as well."

Nadir stands to stop him – taking him by the arm. "Sit. For another moment. Sit."

Erik examines his friend's eyes. "She remembered what happened?"

Nadir nods.

Erik returns to his seat next to Christine, taking her hand. "Tell us."

* * *

" _I am all right, truly I am, Giselle, you can go home."_

" _Not until you are asleep."_

" _I do not know if I can ever sleep again, but I can rest and I can dance."_

" _That is not living."_

" _It is my life – for now. I took a life today and have no remorse for having done so. The worst part is I am not certain which is worse."_

" _No one expects you to be sorry."_

" _How can you kill and not be sorry?"_

" _I wanted to kill him and he had not done to me what he did to you."_

" _But you did not act. Are you sorry about that?"_

" _Yes, at times. Especially now with you suffering as you are. He is not worthy of your pain."_

" _I allowed my darkness to control me. Now I must learn to live with my actions."_

" _I will stay until you fall asleep, so if you want me to go, you must rest."_

* * *

"After about a quarter hour, she finally dozed off allowing Giselle to go home. We kept vigil. Thankfully the laudanum Darius slipped into her tea worked."

"I would be the perfect person to speak with her, I should think," Erik says.

"We have both killed, Erik," Nadir reminds him.

"She does not need to know that."

"True enough, but is this so you can portray yourself as evil once again?" Nadir challenges him.

"Remember what we spoke of last night, darling?" Christine asks. "Stop trying to take the blame for something you did not do. And stop being a martyr."

Erik bristles, his amber eyes flash only to be met with a corresponding flash of aquamarine. "I am not. This time I am not." The hard amber melts to honey, his entire face softens. "I simply want her to know that I am grateful and have experienced some of what she has gone through. This is not to propose I am superior, hardly that."

"Why not just wait to hear what she has to say?" Christine asks. "For months she was not even welcome to speak about her abduction – now she has killed. I am not a scholar or a doctor or a minister, but I was also taken against my will…"

"Christine, I am so sorry," Erik breaks in.

"That is the past. I love you with my whole heart and soul, so there is nothing to be sorry about," she says. "I bring this up because I know it takes time to heal. In her case, she has only just opened a wound that has been festering. You, better than anyone, should be able to understand that, based on what we learned this morning. I know you suffered as much, if not more than she. I also know how hard it has been for you to forgive yourself. Let us hear what her feelings are."

"As always, you are correct, my wife."

Adele stands up, holding her hand out to Nadir. "Let us go and give her our support. That may be all we can do for now."

* * *

"Darius!" Meg says, leaving her position at the barre, running to the young Persian.

His smile is wide as he swoops her up.

"Where did you go?" She pecks him on the cheek when he sets her down.

"I wanted to speak to M. Khan about something. Since you were here with Monique, I thought it would be fine."

"It was," she replies. "I am glad you suggested this. The dancing seems to have cheered her some." Turning to look back at Monique going through a routine of positions with some of the other ballet girls who wanted to rehearse. "She is not Monique anymore." Her blue eyes search his face. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, I believe I do," he replies. "You are very perceptive."

"You are the only person who seems to know," she grumbles. "You and Uncle Erik."

"Why do you say that?"

"Maman loves me, but I know she thinks I am a child – a not very bright one, at that. She is quite brilliant and can do so many things. Even Christine suggested something of the sort when I wanted my new dress to be pink – she said I was no longer a little girl. Why can I just not like pink?"

"Indeed, why not?" he laughs. "The color suits you."

"Exactly."

"Although blue would suit you as well – sapphire to match your eyes."

"Really? You think my eyes are like sapphires?" Clasping her hands behind her back, swishing her rehearsal tutu back and forth. Not waiting for his response, she returns to defending her behavior. "I try so hard to be smarter and nicer and kinder, but it is never enough."

"How so?" He asks, leading her to the chairs provided for the patrons.

"Like today – I wanted to be with you – I did not think about Monique, I suppose. I just wanted to be free of all the ugliness – does that make me bad?"

"No, it makes you you," Darius says, taking her hand and kissing it. "Unfortunately, life tends to be full of ugliness and things we do not like to see, but must still contend with."

"I want to be a good person, Darius, I really do, but I want what I want as well," she says. "You will remind me when I am being a silly prig will you not?"

"That is something you must learn to do for yourself, Meg," he tells her. "I was raised to be a servant, so tending to the needs of others is ingrained. It is not always because I am being kind or thoughtful – just well-trained – not doing so could have meant severe punishment, if not death." A wry laugh punctuates his comment. "I come from a different world than you," he explains. "Now, there are times when I want something, but another person's needs are greater. Those are situations you need to recognize for yourself – there is no value if I have to remind you."

"Like Giselle did last night when she took care of Monique?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"Do you like Giselle?" She asks, bowing her head.

"Yes, I do. She is a co-worker and a friend."

"Do you like her more than you like me?" She asks, her voice very small, looking at him from under her long lashes.

"I like her differently than I like you."

"Am I being foolish again?"

"Yes." His laugh assures her.

The door to the rehearsal room opens, interrupting their conversation.

"Here are Maman and Nadir. Oh, and Uncle Erik and Christine."

* * *

Raoul knocks once more. Monique's valise sits at his feet. He and Phillippe each have articles of women's clothing draped over an arm.

"They are not at home, brother," Phillippe says. "Rapping until your knuckles bleed will not have them magically appear. There was no agreed time, perhaps they are having luncheon or have gone to the Opera house."

"Why would they go there? Monique is in no condition to be dancing."

"Raoul, please, this is not the way you can behave if you want to have a relationship with this woman. She has an entire coterie of people around her who are not very fond of you. Showing bad temper or arrogance will only make it more difficult for you to plead your case."

The men are distracted by the sound of footsteps on the stairs flowing into the narrow hallway.

Giselle, the producer of said footsteps, approaches them, a bright smile on her face. "Hello. I saw a coach outside, then heard knocking on the door down here. M. le Comte – M. le Vicomte – may I assist you?"

Phillippe squints, his thin lips curl into a half smile, "Mademoiselle, do we know you?"

"I work at the Opera House – both as crew and with Phantom Security. I was present last evening."

Phillippe takes a moment to appraise her from head to foot, the smile broadens. "Ah, yes, you were dressed much differently."

Giselle looks down at the dress Christine gave her and returns his smile, "Yes, I suppose I was."

Raoul clears his throat. "Is Monique not at home?"

"They are all at the theater. Madame and M. Khan left much earlier. Monique, Meg and Darius followed later."

"How is she?" Raoul asks.

"That is difficult to say," Giselle says. "Her memory returned last night, so I would say she is troubled and uncertain."

Raoul turns to Phillippe. "I told you we should have brought her home with us."

"Stop this, now. She was with her friends – that was her choice. She was home."

"M. le Vicomte, she did speak of you and how she wished to speak with you," Giselle says. "She is trying to deal with what happened…what she did. Monique is different now."

"Thank you…er…madamoiselle?"

"Giselle Beauchamp."

"You live here?"

"Yes, on the top floor with Mme. Dupree and her son, Andre." Tilting her chin to indicate the stairway.

"Could we go to the Palais, Phillippe?" Raoul interrupts. "I should really like to see Monique."

"And cart her belongings with us?" Phillippe says. "No."

"I can put them inside if you would like." Giselle presses some buttons on a square box outside the door, then uses one of the keys hanging from a chain around her neck to open both locks.

"Is this something M. Saint-Rein installed?" Phillippe asks.

"Yes. The box disarms the alarm. One lock is simple, the other is a bolt. The door is also heavier than you normally find in these buildings."

"Simple, yet effective for a flat. Your company is working at our home currently. I suspect this sort of alarm will be installed on our doors as well."

"Yes, M. le Comte, all the outer doors. The windows will also be armed." She turns the knob allowing the men entry. "You can just leave the valise near the door. I can take the other garments"

They hand them to her, which she carries into the girls' bedroom.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle," Phillippe says. "Will you be working at our residence?" He calls out.

"I think not – we have workmen who specialize in these installations. I am not trained." Is her reply as she returns to the sitting room, glancing out the small window to the street.

"Hmmm, I see."

"Thank you for your help, Mlle. Beauchamp," Raoul says, seeming to have found his manners. "Phillippe may we now go to the Opera House?"

"I do not believe that will be necessary," Giselle says. "The company coach just pulled up in front of the building and it appears that M. and Mme. Saint-Rien are with Mme. Giry and M. Khan."

"Monique?" Raoul asks.

"Yes, Monique is with them." She smiles at Raoul. "She does care about you, monsieur. Give her time."

* * *

Inspector Edouard Marquand rolls the unlit cigar between his thumb and fingers. "Where was the body found?" He sits at a plain wooden desk covered with papers, all stacked neatly in rows along the edges – a contradiction to his slapdash manner of dress. The office itself is barely large enough to hold the desk and a file cabinet.

"At the Virgin's altar in L'Eglise de la Madeleine," the officer responds, standing half in and half out of the doorway.

"Same as the others?"

"Yes. Woman dead, clothed in a plain cotton nightdress, a white head covering, wrapped in a rough, but clean, blue woolen blanket – a rosary wrapped around her fingers. Examining her further, we found her abdomen had fresh stitches. No sign of other violence or abuse."

"Have you contacted Dr. Gerard?"

"An officer has been sent to accompany him to the scene."

"Any identification?"

"No, sir."

"Very well," he sighs. "I shall join him there." His Macintosh is removed from the coatrack and donned as he follows his policeman from the office.

* * *

"Well, that was a short-lived visit – although I am not complaining," Erik comments to Christine as he locks the door behind them and follows her into the kitchen. They each of them dispose of their outer wear, Christine helping Erik with his coat. "This sling is becoming a real nuisance, my arm feels fine."

"I thought you were not complaining," Christine laughs.

"You know what I meant – I am happy to be home."

"While I wonder at her choice, I did say Monique needs to make her own decisions," Christine replies, opening the larder and taking out a baguette and a piece of cheese. Making a small sandwich, she offers half to Erik, who shakes his head. "I knew she and Raoul were involved, if not in love. That she should wish to speak to him is not surprising, nevertheless..."

"Now that is a conversation on which I should like to eavesdrop," he comments. "I cannot see him comforting anyone – more likely he needs _her_ gentle hand upon _his_ brow."

"Oh, stop. In truth, I am more interested in Phillippe and Giselle," she snickers.

* * *

 _Madame Giry's small living room did not seem able to contain all the people attempting to find room to place themselves. With the return of Adele, Nadir and Monique, accompanied by Erik and Christine – with the attendant bustles, skirts, hats and bonnets – the solemn mood of each of them was relieved somewhat by the levity of the crowded situation._

 _Monique was the first to laugh, pointing to her plain cotton rehearsal garb, commenting, "My goodness, had I known we were to party, I should have dressed more elegantly."_

" _Thank you, Giselle, for letting the Comte and Vicomte into the flat," Adele said._

" _My pleasure," she responded. "I shall take my leave now." Nodding her head in the general direction of the guests, with a small wave at Nadir, Erik and Christine, and, after giving Monique a quick hug, she left._

 _Phillippe following her exit with his eyes._

" _Monique?" Raoul said, stepping away from his brother toward her. A plea in his blue eyes._

 _The lithe young woman hesitated a moment before walking toward him._

 _He opened his arms. "Please forgive me."_

 _Nodding, she entered his embrace, laying her head against his chest, "I am happy to see you."_

 _Holding her close, he pressed his lips against the cropped, copper-colored hair. "And I, you."_

" _Why not go into your room so that you can talk," Adele suggested._

" _Thank you." Monique took Raoul's hand, leading him into the bedroom._

" _Shall I prepare some tea?" Adele asked._

" _Thank you, no," Phillippe said. "I shall take my leave. Raoul can find his way home." Walking to the door, he stopped and turned to Erik. "The young woman, Giselle, is employed by you?"_

" _Yes?" Erik responded._

" _Impressive," Phillippe said, putting on his top hat before taking his leave._

 _The two couples exchange a perplexed look – then realizing the import of the question, began laughing. "Nobility, indeed," snorted Nadir._

" _It would seem our Giselle has impressed le Comte Phillippe," Erik chuckled._

" _Would you care to join us for a bite of food?" Nadir asked Erik and Christine. "I, for one, am starved."_

" _Christine?" Erik asked._

" _No, I think this day has been quite enough for me and home is the only place I wish to be right now."_

" _Take good care, my daughter," Adele said, kissing Christine on the cheek._

" _Thank you, Madame, I shall." Christine's face lights with surprise and appreciation. "And you."_

* * *

"We should have accepted Nadir's offer to le des jeuner. Let me fix you an omelet."

Christine shakes her head no. "This is fine. Believe it or not, I am not very hungry. When the doctor told me that my figure was a result of my diet, not the baby, I realized that I could not continue to indulge in my sweets too much anymore."

"An omelet is not a sweet – it is a meal, and _that_ you do need. Remember what Adele said."

"That was quite sweet, was it not? So out of character – Nadir will be a good husband for her," she says. "What _I_ need is my husband." Licking her fingers before wrapping her arms around him, planting a kiss on his lips.

"You never said how the examination was for you," Erik says. "We spent so much time talking about me, I failed to ask."

"It was fine."

"Are you certain – you seemed…unsettled when I first saw you afterward."

"It was nothing, honestly. Come," she says, taking his hand, "I have something to show you."

Reaching the bedroom, Christine gently unties the sling supporting his right arm and removes his waistcoat, cravat and shirt taking her time to give him a kiss with every piece of clothing she removes. "Does your arm hurt?" She asks.

"To be honest, I was not aware of it until you asked," he replies assisting her with his trousers.

"Get into bed and lay back against the pillows," she commands as she tugs at his drawers, pulling them down over his legs and feet, laying them on the bench at the foot of the bed.

Christine has never been shy about their relations – taking the lead more often than not, if he was being truly honest, but this feels different to him.

"Do you not need assistance with your clothing?"

"No more corsets, remember – just watch me and I shall watch you."

Slowly rotating her hips, she undoes her skirt, the movement of her body conspire with her hands to allow the ruffles and underskirts to puddle at her feet. As she undoes her bodice, one button at a time, she hums an unfamiliar melody. Something of her own creation he suspects – haunting and lovely. Her eyes are half closed as she smiles as much to herself as to him.

His first inclination was, as always, to cover himself, not wanting to be so exposed – now he finds himself enjoying her watch his arousal as she slips out of her own drawers, setting them atop of his. Dancing and singing for him in a way reminiscent of the court dancers in Persia, her eyes fully closed, she removes her blouse, twirling it over her head before tossing it at him.

Chuckling, he catches it, brings it to his face, taking in her scent then pats the bed.

Donning only her chemise, she joins him, pleased with the obvious success of her dance, running her hand over his thighs and his engorged member. "I think you liked my little performance." Her eyebrows twerk.

"Where did you learn that?" He pulls her next to him with his good arm.

"You were not my only tutor at the Palais. The other girls were always telling stories." She grins.

"Do you wish for me to complete your disrobing?" Not waiting for an answer, he unties the laces of the chemise, exposing her full breasts. "You are gorgeous, my talented wife. Do not ever believe yourself to be uncomely to me." With his thumb, he grazes her areole, sighing as he bends to suckle first one breast then the other, never ceasing to enjoy the way her nipples pucker to welcome his mouth.

Smoothing the silk undergarment to one side, exposing her body, he strokes her gently, taking his time caressing her satiny, naked belly before sliding his fingers to her mons barely touching the chestnut curls.

Her breath catches. "Erik – stop," she whimpers.

"What? Did I hurt you?" he asks, understanding her earlier distress. "Did he hurt you here? Is this the part of you he examined?

"Yes," she says, surprised at the tears forming in her eyes. "I was on my side – my back to him – and he used something called a speculum to .me. I thought if we had our special loving, if I could make it fun – that would take away the…not shame – discomfort. I just felt…violated. He did not hurt me – he was most careful – and kind – did not even look at me. Perhaps that was the intent – to relieve any embarrassment. It was just…strange and unpleasant."

"Oh, my dearest one, I am so sorry," he says. "I wish I had thought to ask before touching you."

"No, I wanted you to. I want you to touch me there – everywhere." Taking his hand, she returns it to her private place. "Make it better."

"Lie back on the pillow," he tells her as he moves to face her, situating himself between her legs. "Do you think kisses will help?"

"Yes, I believe kisses will certainly help."

"Then kisses you shall have," he says, spreading her thighs to explore those secrets meant for him alone. To indulge in her sweet nectar – eliciting the little moans that tell him she is in a state of bliss – bringing her back to herself. He marvels, yet again, at his good fortune and the wonder that is his Christine.


	4. Expectation

EXPECTATION

"It does appear that the audience enjoyed the Opera," Erik comments to Giselle as she carefully makes her way toward him on the catwalk. She joins him, arms resting on the rail, to watch Christine take her fifth curtain call.

At her feet lie bouquets of roses – some the gifts of fans of the opera – others from Erik himself to assure that the audience is aware of her brilliance. His special gift will be her favorite Belgian chocolates with something extra. For now – for the opera-goer – they see her feted to remind them visually of her aural success.

"What was not to enjoy, M. Erik?"

"This Opera was scheduled not that long ago – some may have seen it already. We had to get special permission from the state to produce it again so soon after the last production, even though it was short-lived. There was a concern that it would not attract an audience. After the fall of the chandelier during Il Muto and the cancellation of Don Juan Triumphant – those in power were not very happy with us – the crown jewel of Parisian opera was eating up funds and not producing any revenue."

"I was not aware that there were rules."

"There are always rules – the state loves to dictate. I had no idea what I was getting into, but Adele is a great manager and Armand and Firmin are actually quite capable and relieved they no longer have to carry the entire burden of the contract."

"Oh, look, there is Andre," Giselle says. "Does he not look adorable in his soldier's costume?"

"He was so pleased to be part of the chorus," Erik replies. "He will be doing at least one challenging duet with Christine in our next presentation, possibly two – I cannot truly call it an opera – another headache with the State, but they are being agreeable – thinking perhaps something completely different will benefit their coffers."

 _Bravo, Andre. You were magnificent._

 _Thank you, M. Erik – it was such fun._ The boy waves wildly as he replies to Erik.

"Oh, there is Henri," she laughs. "He looks so awkward in the armor."

"I wanted someone I could trust right next to Christine," Erik says. "Being up here watching is one thing – being at her side, quite another." Turning to her, he asks, "Do you miss being on stage? Dancing? The applause?"

"Sometimes – but this work suits me – working with my hands – also my job with the Security company is exciting."

"I am not certain if I thanked you properly for your efforts to save me from M. Robert." His amber eyes piercing, conveying his depth of feeling. "Is there something in particular that you want or need that I could provide – I am not very good at selecting gifts, unless it is chocolates."

"Oh, M. Erik, I was doing my job – which is a gift in and of itself." Her face feels hot at his rush of emotion and the offer of compensation.

"Cash it is then," he chuckles. "At the very least you deserve a bonus. Some might not agree that this body was worth saving, but I am most grateful."

"Thank you, Monsieur."

Erik holds up his hand and returns his attention to the stage.

 _Brava, brava – bravissima._

Christine looks up and smiles at him – throwing a kiss and waving to Giselle. Henri joins her, taking her arm to accompany her to her dressing room.

"What just happened?" Giselle asks. "Andre also waved at you out of the blue."

 _A little talent of mine_.

Giselle presses her hand against her ear and laughs. "That it is."

"I best be going down," Erik says. "You should join the party."

"Dressed like this?"

"Find a gown in wardrobe," Erik tells her. "I have a feeling there will be someone in attendance who might be looking for you." Glancing down once more, he says, "On second thought, perhaps you will have no time to change." Pointing down to the stage at Comte Phillippe, carrying two glasses of champagne, appearing to look for someone.

 _Look up, M. Comte, I believe you will find the person you seek._

With that he disappears into the shadows, leaving Giselle to smile down at a bewildered Phillippe, his storm-colored eyes searching the flies.

"Are you in search of someone, M. le Comte," she calls down.

The sound of her voice giving him perspective, Phillippe's eyes light up as he locates her leaning on the rail. "Indeed, Mademoiselle, I believe I have found her – or she has found me. Might I interest you in some champagne?" he asks, holding up one of the glasses.

"I believe I should like that," Giselle responds. "I shall be down presently."

* * *

 _Are you receiving visitors, La Daae?_

"Only if he is wearing a mask and will bring me chocolates," Christine responds.

"I am so pleased you wish for chocolates. I was concerned you might ask for herring," he says as he walks through the mirror door.

Laughing, she rises from the bench at her dressing table, to run into his arms. "I was quite the shrew about the herring that day, was I not?"

"You are never a shrew – however, I was happy that Adele hid the jar of your favorite food in the basket," he chuckles. "If you look in the drawer, you will find your chocolates and another small favor from your most ardent admirer."

"At the moment, I would prefer a kiss from my husband." Wrapping her arms around his neck, she starts to remove his mask.

He stops her. "Someone might come in."

"The door is locked. I managed to beat the crowd and told the dresser I could deal with the costume." Completing her task, she then presses herself to him and kisses him deeply.

Forcing himself to do what would be unthinkable at any other time – he pushes her away, saying, "Not now, my adorable darling – do you not want to celebrate with your audience?" Taking the mask from her, he puts it back on.

"No – I wanted to sing beautifully for them – and I believe I did – they got their money's worth," she responds.

Erik laughs. "That may be well and good from your point of view, but we must still feed the beast – to continue the current patronage and expand the audience. And to promote your voice. I rather think you might enjoy hearing the praise – you have certainly worked for it."

"I am not certain about hearing the praise – I suspect I would find that somewhat embarrassing, but I suppose you are right – I remember Pappa taking time after his performances talking to the people who came to see him," she says. "I thought he enjoyed it – now I realize that it was part of the business."

"Unfortunately, yes," Erik tells her, "I do not wish for you to tire yourself, but a few minutes just walking through the reception and then we can go home."

"Will you be with me?"

"No, my dear – this is not my milieu, you know that. Nadir will be here shortly – so you shall be in good hands," he tells her as they hear a knock on the door. "I will be close, have no doubt."

Christine opens the door to Nadir, who bows to her. "A true prima donna, Madame. Your cadenza could not have been more perfect."

Touching his cheek, she says, "Thank you. I understand you are to be my escort."

"It is my honor and privilege," he says offering his arm.

"A bientot, my dear," Erik says, draping her scarf over her shoulders. "I shall be here upon your return."

* * *

The Salon du Glacier is alive with celebratory noise and good will – crowded with patrons, artists and attendants assuring everyone is partaking of the refreshments. A narrow path opens as Christine appears with Nadir, a burst of applause and some shouts of "brava" greet her.

"Thank you, so much," Christine murmurs as Nadir guides her through the crowd to an alcove set up for her to sit and greet her audience.

The earlier desire to bypass the reception is replaced by a feeling of warmth and pride that all these people are here to see her. Never a vain person, or someone bedeviled with pride, she nonetheless appreciates the kind and, sometimes glowing, words being said. Her cheeks are flushed with pleasure and she greets everyone with a brilliant smile and a quiet "thank you."

 _I told you it might be enjoyable._

Her laugh is her reply to Erik's commentary. He must teach her this skill. Pressing Nadir's hand, she asks, "Might I have some water with lemon?"

"Of course," he says, lifting his hand to get a waiter's attention. "I cannot leave your side – Erik would have me in chains. Hopefully one of the waiters will notice that the guest of honor is without refreshment."

A waiter approaches and Nadir orders water for both of them.

"Apparently the only beverage they have on their silver trays is champagne," he comments. "And who is this?" he says to Dr. Gerard, approaching them with a petite woman with hair as white as that of her partner. The deep blue satin gown highlights her softly styled hair and fair skin, firm and smooth, with only modest wrinkles around her eyes.

"Mme. Saint-Rien," he says, "may I introduce my wife, Elyse?"

"Madame Gerard, I am so pleased you were able to attend this evening," Christine says. "My husband always reserves Box 5 in the event he has guests – I hope you found it satisfactory for viewing the performance."

"The pleasure is mine, Madame," Mme. Gerard replies. "This is the first time we have attended an opening and the reception. I am quite boggled by the entire experience."

"I must confess that this is mine, too," Christine laughs. "May I introduce M. Nadir Khan, our close friend and business associate?"

"We are acquainted," Dr. Gerard advises. "Elyse, M. Khan is a detective and a long-time patron of the opera."

Nadir offers a slight bow. "Madame."

"A moment, M. Khan," Dr. Gerard says, touching Nadir gently on the arm.

"Of course," he turns slightly away from the women, who are engaged in conversation.

"Is M. Saint-Rien available to speak with me – with both of us?"

Nadir studies the older man's face – the normal placid visage is pained, his eyes shadowed.

"It is possible," he responds. "Christine? Would this be an opportune time to retire or would you prefer to stay a bit longer?"

Her eyes shift back and forth between Nadir and Dr. Gerard. "Retiring would be perfectly fine. I should like a cup of tea and it appears that our waiter has gotten lost in the throng."

Nadir helps her rise and the two couples make their way through the crowd, smiling and waving.

 _The doctor appears upset. I shall meet you in our office._

* * *

Giselle tucks her shirt into her trousers, dusting them off before walking through the skrim to meet with Phillippe back stage left, not far from the altercation just two days before. The energy is so different tonight – the stage crew are celebrating the success of the show – no mishaps – major or minor – and the pleasure of working again in a production that suggests financial security for all of them for the time being. Working with Madame Christine was such a pleasure after the hysterics of Madame Carlotta. No fear of random objects being flung at them for perceived offenses. All in all, a most pleasant evening for everyone involved in the production.

With these good spirits buoying her confidence, Giselle takes a deep breath as she says, "Good evening, M. le Comte, I am surprised that you are not enjoying the festivities in the Salon."

"It would appear that the crew is having their own celebration – likely being a much more interesting party than what is going on elsewhere in the Palais. I suspect I would be hearing the same conversations that have taken place in these halls since the opening – as well as those from years back at the Opera de Paris. Most boring, I assure you." He offers her the glass of champagne. Tapping the edge of his flute to hers after she takes it from him.

"We are very happy tonight – after the recent events, a successful performance is something all of us hoped for – and received." Taking a sip of the bubbly liquid, she smiles. "It does tickle one's nose, does it not? I had heard that, but it seemed frivolous, but appears to be true. It is quite nice."

"You have not tasted champagne before?"

"No, the most my family could afford for celebrations was a ginger beer at Christmas."

"This is a good year. M. Saint-Rien did not spare any expense as is the norm. Many times what is served is little better than vinegar," he says. "I am happy that your first experience with the drink is positive, but may ruin you for future tastings."

"Since that is quite unlikely, I will accept this as a memorable gift."

Looking around, he asks, "Is there somewhere that we can sit? You must be tired from working all evening."

Giselle points to a bench used in the production. "Here. This should be comfortable."

"It is most unusual for a woman to be employed as part of the stage crew – are there others?" He says as they sit.

A few crew members walk by, raising their eyebrows and sniggering at Giselle and the Comte. She rolls her eyes, shooing them away with a wave of her hand. "Con comme ses pieds."

Phillippe snorts at the insult.

Giselle blushes. "Well they are," she says. "To answer your question – at the moment, no, I am the only woman, but some of the older ballet girls are considering learning the work – the pay is somewhat better for one thing – the other is they need other work now that they are getting older. This depends upon how well you can move scenery or work the flies, not how you keep your figure or continue to ruin your feet."

"If you would forgive my question if it is intrusive – I wonder at your choice. Were you a dancer, by any chance? I can see where you might have been – and your words suggest as much."

"Is that so?"

"Again, no intent to insult or pry. You move like a dancer and despite the, er, cut of your clothing, you appear to have the build…figure of a dancer."

"You are quite correct, monsieur, I was a member of the company until I broke my leg. It did not heal well, although I am grateful that it healed at all. My father was a carpenter and taught me his craft."

"That is most fortunate for you."

"Even more fortunate is the ability to work for Phantom Security – I am able to use my wits as well as my body. A situation more preferable to me."

"Yes, I expect it would be."

Giselle stands up and extends her hand for his glass. "I must take my leave. I am responsible for bringing young Andre home. He is there, in his cubby, nodding off, I can see his foot sticking out. I will drop these off at the service kitchen."

Pulling the glass back, Phillippe asks, "Must you go? I thought perhaps I could offer you supper."

Giselle laughs, "As I said, I must get the boy to his bed. And, I am not exactly dressed for supper, M. Le Comte." Sweeping her arm in front of her to display her work clothes.

"No, I suppose not," he admits. "Although it would not bother me, however, I would not wish for you to be uncomfortable. Perhaps, tomorrow? You could perhaps bring a change of clothing that you felt would be more appropriate and, perhaps, persuade another to care for the boy?"

"I do not know…"

"Please, we have been having such a wonderful conversation," Phillippe says. "It has been a very long time since I have been so relaxed – not feeling as though I must put on a façade, if you will. You are quite special, you know."

"I have always thought so, but many people find me off-putting," she says.

Phillippe laughs, "Well they are fools – con comme ses pieds." Tilting his head, he asks, "Tomorrow?"

She bobs her head. "Yes, tomorrow – I shall meet you at the door – there," she says, pointing to the stage manager's desk near the exit.

"Bien," Phillippe hands her his flute and, with a bow, leaves.

Giselle watches his tall, slim frame walk briskly down the stairs from the stage to the auditorium, making his way back to the Salon. Unbidden, her grin is wide when he turns to give her a small wave.

"Well, well, well," she says aloud to no one, then finds her way to Andre's hiding place to wake him.

* * *

Nadir opens the door to the Phantom Security office, ushering Christine, Dr. Gerard and Elyse in, finding Erik sitting at the desk and Adele on the sofa next to him.

"I thought Adele should be included in this discussion, whatever it might be about," Erik says as he stands up to gather Christine in his arms, pressing a kiss on her forehead, before leading her to the settee to sit next to Adele. "Please, everyone sit and be comfortable. Adele generously prepared tea or we have brandy…"

"I think a brandy would be welcome," Dr. Gerard says. "Elyse?"

"Tea, please, sugar and milk, if you have it," she responds. "I am afraid that I am the cause of this meeting. Emile has been distressed for these past two day and I told him that he simply could not let any more time pass before speaking to you." Her brow wrinkles in a frown at her husband. "I did not, however, intend that he force himself upon you tonight."

"Let me serve the tea," Adele says, "then we can hear your concerns. As far as disturbing any celebration, I can assure you that none of us is missing the goings on in the Salon and welcomed an excuse to absent ourselves. Erik and I were just passing time until Christine and Nadir felt they had done their duty."

Erik pours the doctor, Nadir and himself a finger of brandy into small snifters. "Just a touch for medicinal purposes, eh, Dr. Gerard?"

The doctor responds with a grateful nod and a deep sigh.

Refreshments served, everyone comfortable – Erik and Nadir at the desk, Adele returning to her seat next to Christine, with the Gerards on other couch.

"Now," Erik says, "what is this about?"

"After you left my office yesterday, I was contacted by Inspector Marquand and escorted to a crime scene at L'Eglise de la Madeleine."

* * *

" _The body is here, M. le Docteur."_

" _It appears to have been disturbed."_

" _She was completely covered by the blanket, we only lifted it to see who the victim was."_

" _The nightgown has been disturbed."_

" _We were checking to see if this was the same as the other two similar cases. The Inspector gave us permission. When he was informed, he instructed us to secure your presence."_

" _Yes, that is fine. Today is generally a day of rest from my practice, but…"_ he breaks off the explanation. _"So, she has the abdominal injury and suturing?"_

" _Yes."_

He kneels down and lifts the white nightgown. The young woman wears no other garments. A clean incision has been made to her lower abdomen and neatly sutured – the area clean and dry. The work of a trained surgeon or someone who aspires to be.

" _No sign of the baby?"_

" _No, monsieur."_

The smell of chloroform is strong; the fumes burn his eyes. A white scarf covers her head. The small, perfectly shaped face is pale in death, her lips, turning blue are slightly open. His breath catches, heart skipping a beat.

" _Dear God."_

* * *

"What?" Erik asks. "Did you know her?"

"Yes," the doctor responds. "It was the young woman you saw at my office – the girl with the matron attending her."

Christine gasps, "Oh, no. She was the victim – she was so lovely. I do not understand. What are we talking about here?"

"A number of things, Madame Saint-Rien…"

"Christine – I am Christine. He is Erik. This is Adele. And he is Nadir. Please just tell us."

Adele puts her arm around her friend. "Be calm, Christine. Let us hear what the doctor has to say."

"Please continue." Nadir encourages Dr. Gerard. "This was a patient of yours?"

"No, she was seeing Dr. Perdue – my associate – or so I thought – that is another piece of the puzzle that confuses me."

"Why not just tell us the situation as you understand it – we can sort the details later," Erik suggests.

Nadir pulls out several sheets of paper and prepares to write as the doctor tells his story.

* * *

" _I really want to see Dr. Perdue – he is my doctor, has been my doctor. There is no emergency, but this biddy seems to think I need to be examined. I am tired of being examined. The baby is due soon, that I know, but I am not exhibiting any sign that the birth will happen before Dr. Perdue can see me. The nurse said a week, possibly more."_

" _Please, Madame,"_ Dr. Gerard said, hoping to calm the woman – girl, she was little more than a child - down. The excitement was good for neither the mother nor the child. Despite her determination, from all appearances birth was imminent.

" _Mademoiselle – not Madame."_

" _We are here to determine whether you need to go to the hospital for the lying in,"_ the older woman interjected.

" _I do not wish to go to the hospital. Women having babies die in the hospital – is that not so, Doctor…?"_

" _Gerard – Emile Gerard. Yes, that has been so, but methods have been altered – antiseptics are being used…"_

" _I do not care,"_ the girl said. _"I am sorry we took your time, Dr. Gerard. I am certain you are a fine physician, but I shall wait for Dr. Perdue's return. He knows my situation – I am unwilling to involve someone else."_

With that she got up to leave and said to her companion, _"I do not wish to take up any more of the doctor's time. If you wish to be examined, feel free to stay."_

" _Marie-Corrinne, you are being ridiculous,"_ the matron said, following the girl out the door and into the waiting room.

" _I shall have this child at home and I am not giving it away. Dr. Perdue is completely aware of my decision and agrees."_

" _I sincerely doubt that."_

" _Well, we shall see."_

* * *

"Then they were gone," the doctor says. A light sweat has broken out on his brow. Finishing his brandy, he puts the glass on the coffee table.

"This was the young woman in the church?"

"Yes. The baby was surgically removed – it is called a cesarean section. The mother was anesthetized – asphyxiated, likely – with chloroform or a combination of the drug with manual suffocation – and the baby removed."

"She alluded to not giving the baby away…" Christine says.

"Perhaps the child was to be given up for adoption and she changed her mind?" Erik speculates.

"That was my thought," the doctor agrees.

"There have been others?" Nadir asks.

"Yes. Two others – this is the third. All left at L'Eglise de la Madeleine at the altar of the Virgin, all dressed the same, same blanket, same suturing."

"The police are handling this?" Nadir asks.

"Yes."

"Then why are you telling us – other than the fact that Christine and I happened to see this particular victim."

"While he was away, someone broke into his office," Elyse says. "The office is ground floor of our house. Emile does not generally work on Wednesdays – Dr. Perdue has the office on that day. Emile was only present because he requested you and Madame…Christine come in. Normally we do our weekly shopping on Wednesday. Not that it was any problem, we were honored to help Mada…Christine, especially with the gift of such excellent tickets to the opera. I try to keep as many stores on hand as possible."

Nadir stifles a yawn. Meeting Erik's eyes, he shrugs.

"Elyse, please get on with it," her husband advises.

With a small harrumph, she continues, "Anyway, Dr. Perdue sent him a note saying he was ill and could Emile see the patient he had scheduled. It was only good fortune that Patrice, Emile's nurse, stopped by to pick up some packages she had left behind the day before, otherwise Emile would have been completely on his own. Patrice took the message. I gave it to Emile and he took it to the office with him."

"I am still confused," Erik says. "You say there was a theft?"

"After the policeman came to get Emile, I did some tidying up – little things like straightening the antimacassars on the settees and chairs. Rearranging some pieces of sculpture to bide my time until his return. Our maid is quite lax when it comes to symmetry," she tells them.

Adele presses her knuckles to her mouth, suppressing a laugh.

Christine squeezes the older woman's hand, giving her a side eye.

"I heard a noise downstairs and ran to the kitchen for a pot and spoon. I began banging the pot to run off the intruder. My action was successful, shortly after I began making the noise, I heard the downstairs door close."

Emile takes up the story. "When I returned home, I found that someone had been in my office. My file cabinets were intact and locked, but a page had been torn from my appointment book – it held your names and the name of the girl – and the note from Dr. Perdue was gone. I had tucked it into the appointment book as a reminder to enter the patient's name to my list of patients."

"You believe the two are connected?" Nadir asks.

"I am not a believer in coincidences, monsieur," he says. "I felt that you should be aware that a possible murderer might believe you had seen his victim."

"Yes, I appreciate that, although I do not know why it would matter," Erik says. "What of the older woman? Do you know who she is?"

"No – I do not even know her name – or the girl's beyond Marie-Corrinne."

"Her name was Marie-Corrinne Arnault – I heard her tell your nurse," Erik says. "What of Dr. Perdue?"

"Of course, her name was on the note – I forgot in the excitement – then the note was gone," Gerard says. "As for Perdue - he is unreachable. Gone."

"Inspector Marquand?" Erik frowns.

"Knows all of this."

"What else would you like for us to do?" Erik asks, leaning forward, folding his hands on the desk.

"First of all, I want a security system," Elyse says. "Whoever it was got in too easily for my taste. A kettle and piece of flatware are not terribly efficient for warding off felons. This is all…"

"Yes, we would like to hire you for that," Dr. Gerard cuts her off, "but, I would also like to engage you to find Dr. Perdue and the older woman. Something very odd is going on. Who kills to take babies? To be honest, Inspector Marquand does not have much interest – young girls he assumes are prostitutes. No one appears to be missing them." He shrugs.

Erik looks at Christine, who is taking in all the information. She presses her hand against her stomach, biting her lower lip, tears close to falling.

"Are you all right?" Erik asks, getting up to kneel next to her, taking her hand.

"Yes, I suppose I should be happy that our little one is still so tiny inside of me," she says. "The idea of someone going around…I am just thinking of Marie-Corrinne – possibly planning to give her baby away, but changing her mind and dying because of it. Who would do that?"

"Exactly," the doctor agrees.

Exchanging a look with Nadir, who nods, Erik says, "Of course we shall do what we can. We might also wish to speak to the pastor at the church – he may wish to engage a guard, since the bodies have been left there."

"I have already spoken to him about you – he remembered your name – a visiting priest mentioned it to him?"

"Yes, Pere Mansart," Erik says.

"That is he," Dr. Gerard replies. "He said that Pere Mansart spoke highly of you."

"Did he now?" Erik smirks.

"Yes – he spoke well of all of you. How you made him welcome on your wedding day."

"He is a dear man," Christine comments. "We are very fond of him."

"In that case, how can we refuse either of you," Nadir says. "I think our ladies are all ready to retire – the evening has been quite full."

"Yes, thank you," Christine says.

"I am sorry, Mada…Christine," Dr. Gerard says. "As I said, this was not my intention – to intrude." A glare at his wife forms then disappears quickly as Elyse perceives his tone – her own eyes on fire.

"The sooner the matter is addressed the better," she replies. "I wish only that Marie-Corrinne be vindicated and her child be recovered if possible."

Erik stands and helps her to her feet. "Nadir, perhaps you could set a meeting for us tomorrow with the doctor – at the church would be the best. If it is convenient, you and Adele might wish to have breakfast with us?"

"That sounds fine, Erik," Adele says. "Now take our little mother home."

"Thank you, all of you," Mrs. Gerard says. "I know I babble on a bit. I apologize – I am just frightened."

"Not to worry, Madame," Christine answers. "I understand perfectly. Good night."

"Good night," Erik says as he takes Christine's arm, guiding her to the door.

Once in the hallway, they walk to her dressing room. "Are you all right?" he asks, putting his good arm around her. Having shunned the sling, he still takes care not to move his injured right arm too much.

The laughter erupting from her takes him aback. "What?"

"Do you ever think that the world has gone completely mad?" she asks, calming her laughter.

"Constantly," he replies. "Why the laughter?"

"I realize that it is inappropriate, but that woman – Elyse – she was so…ridiculous."

Erik chuckles. "That she was." Tugging her closer to him, he repeats his earlier question. "Are you all right?"

"I shall be better when we are home," she says. "That poor girl, Erik." She snuggles against his chest, taking strength and comfort in his slim, firm body. "You must discover who did this and bring him to justice."

"I shall do my best, my dear," he responds. "For now, we must get you something to eat and to bed."

"I want nothing more." Her tone coy and teasing. "Well, maybe something – hugs and kisses…and those Belgian chocolates you promised me."

* * *

 **A/N – dumb as their own feet.**


	5. Admissions

**(A/N - Thank you all for reading my stories. All of your comments bring such happiness to know that my pleasure in writing is received as pleasure in reading.)**

ADMISSIONS

"What is this I smell?" Erik asks as he walks into the kitchen, holding his right arm with his left, trying to exercise the shoulder without causing too much pain.

The smell of food wafting into the bedroom roused him from sleep – they have developed the habit of leaving the bedroom door open to the sitting room when Christine complained of feeling confined.

* * *

 _It is so – I don't know…stuffy, closed off and, for me, insecure. Perhaps it comes from often sleeping out of doors._

 _May I remind you that I slept in a coffin for a time?_

 _Which is stranger yet, beyond the obvious, what with the cages and all._

 _Yes, I suppose. There was comfort in the feeling of being cradled - touched while I slept – when I slept._

 _Well, now you have me and I promise you shall be cradled and touched – lovingly and often._

* * *

The small amount of laudanum that he allowed himself for his injury must have really overtaken him. He had not felt Christine leaving the bed behind, obviously having tucked him in, as it was a bit of a struggle to release himself from the blankets covering his body like waddling.

Before the drug, she had unleashed her seemingly endless desire for "special loving" with him. A fact that both overwhelmed and pleased him in equal measure. The celebration after HANNIBAL was tiring enough, but the meeting afterward with the Gerards took an emotional toll. So much death in such a short period of time was challenging for both of them – particularly when the young woman was, just that, young, and from his recollection, healthy and full of spirit with a new life soon to be born.

His immediate response to stress was usually music or something cerebral – working with his inventions or studying. Christine preferred physical expression in dealing with any emotional situation – happiness, sadness, fear, anger – it did not matter, her immediate response was to ask for hugs and kisses, which, more often than not, had them disrobing in a rush and making love. Not that he was complaining – he had lived a lifetime loveless and undesirable – now he had a bounty of both and the reality of that often left him bewildered as to how it all came about.

* * *

" _Would you like some supper – you must be starved."_

" _Only for you."_

 _It took only moments for her to shrug off her cloak after traversing the tunnels back to their home, crossing the small lake in the skiff and entering their cozy home. Then the tiara, skirt and, with his help, the bodice of her costume became a small pile on the floor of the sitting room, leaving her in drawers and a short camisole._

 _His clothes were dismissed in short order as well – the injured arm, a consideration, had him still in his shirt. The cravat, waistcoat, trousers and vest, however, were tossed into a pile of their own in the bedroom._

 _As always, when her deeper, more challenging emotions were involved, she was more assertive and controlling._

 _Once both his drawers and hers were disposed of, her mouth sought out parts of his body he had never been aware of having such sensation – the backs of his knees and the magical place at the base of his scrotum she discovered on their wedding night – there was not an inch of him that she did not lick, kiss or nibble._

" _Christine, let me…"_

" _No."_

 _How she could be rough and gentle at the same time was a mystery, yet she was able to stroke his phallus with incredible vigor, while kissing and suckling the head at the same time with tenderness._

 _When he was ready to explode, she straddled him and grinning broadly, brought him inside of her and allowed him to assist her own climax by pressing his fingers against her, directing his ministrations._

 _He was there, but not there – her tool to do with what she wished. It was strange and exhilarating how she watched him and was able to bring them both to orgasm at the same time._

 _Tender kisses, followed with sweet mumblings of love left them both sleepy._

 _She would not allow him to get the medication – instead padding into the kitchen to fetch the drug mixed with a small amount of brandy and honey for taste, and water – he admiring her round bottom and hips as they swayed when she walked. Aware of his gaze, she shimmied just a bit more than was her normal movement._

 _Returning with the snifter, she fed the brew to him – brushing the hair from his forehead._

 _When he finished, she put the glass on the nightstand, crawled into bed beside him and said, "Now sleep, my darling man. You must heal – I shall not have you off solving mysteries while even moderately infirm."_

* * *

"Cardamom bread," she answers, wiping her hands on a dish towel, having washed the tools and dishes used to prepare her dough. "Pappa taught me to make it. It took a while to find everything, but I hope it will turn out all right. I was happy to see we had yeast and molasses. I started the dough during the night. Sleep would not come, so thought I would try to prepare something for our breakfast."

"It smells wonderful, the spice is one of my favorites. This was quite an undertaking – bread is quite challenging to bake," Erik says, wrapping his arms around her, dropping his right arm when it began to ache. "Damnable injury."

She presses her hand against the bandaging. "Let me look at it," she says.

"First a morning kiss," he says, then acts on his suggestion. "We seem to be reversing roles."

"I suspect you will always be the better cook, but if I am to learn, I must at least try," she laughs. "I was just going to prepare the egg mixture for omelets. Do you think Adele and Nadir will be here soon?"

"Not knowing the time, I have no idea. Perhaps we should dress ourselves, in the event they are nigh and will be ringing the alarm soon," he says, indicating his dress shirt that became a night shirt and her frilled dressing gown that left little to the imagination. Resisting the urge to caress the breast peeking through the sheer batiste, he asks, "How long does your bread need to bake?"

Her lips crook in a grimace – eyes wide.

Laughing, he opens the door to the oven, the bread is still pale and soft looking. Pressing the middle with his long index finger, then releasing it, leaving an impression, he says, "We have some time, I believe. We just need to check it for color every so often. While it is fragrant, it is definitely still raw. Perhaps our mutual toilettes should be brief, I would not want your efforts to be in vain for over-baking."

"Or other distractions," she giggles. "I saw you leering at me."

* * *

The alarm rings twice. Erik strides from his old bedroom to answer the door. "Merde." A faint smell of burning stings his nose. He runs into the kitchen, grabs a hot pad, opens the oven door and pulls out Christine's creation and sets it on the stone countertop. The bread is a golden brown and completely edible from all appearances. The burning smell appears to be coming from some syrup on the edge of the pan. "Thank whatever Swedish gods in heaven there might be."

Christine, fully dressed in her favorite blue dress, bustle in place, hair tied back with a large blue satin ribbon, rushes into the kitchen. "Did it burn, oh, please do not say it burned." Tears fill her eyes.

"It did not burn – some of the syrup or sugar you glazed it with – is what you smell," Erik says. "The bread itself appears to be fine. See." He stands back so that she can see the braided loaf. "It is perfect."

She sighs. "Did I hear the alarm?"

"Yes, yes." Erik rushes out the back door to let Adele and Nadir in.

When they reach the kitchen, Christine is waving a towel around to dispel the smoke. "I was hoping for a lovely smell of baking, not burnt sugar."

Adele looks at the loaf on the counter and comments, "The bread looks delicious. I had no idea you baked."

"Pappa taught me. In Sweden it is a man's art – Mamma did the cooking, but Pappa baked. It has been some time since I even thought about cooking. Everyone else is so much better at it than I."

"So you were going to experiment on us today?" Nadir chuckles.

Christine swats at him with the towel. "Shoo, you silly man or I shall feed you the bit of crust that appears to have blackened from the syrup, and send you on your way."

"Erik, I truly believe you have met your match," Nadir comments. "Nothing could make me happier than knowing you are getting as good as you give."

"He is right, Erik," Adele chimes in. "Christine is not only the answer to your prayers – such as they are – but ours as well."

"So I am to be the victim of a group assault, am I? Have you forgotten that song they sang about me not too long ago? _Beware the Phantom of the Opera,"_ he sings.

"I believe you need to change the punctuation – a comma to follow 'beware,'" Adele laughs. "Perhaps now, you are the one who must be wary."

"Touche, Adele – at the moment, this does seem to be so," he responds. "Please, make yourselves comfortable in the sitting room, while Christine and I prepare the rest of our meal."

* * *

"Brava, Christine, your bread was divine," Nadir says. "Just the right amount of cardamom and sweetness. I suspect that even the burnt crust would be delectable."

Christine blushes at the compliment. "Thank you, Nadir. I suspect it was all the butter you spread on it – I found it a bit dry – but appreciate your kind words. Now that I have discovered I might have a talent for baking, I shall work harder at it. With a little one romping around the house, it would be good to know how to make cookies and such."

"Add this to her knitting and sewing. If you study baking as much as singing, we shall have to open a patisserie," Erik says, picking up the dishes and taking them into the kitchen. He returns with a fresh pot of tea, returning to his seat at the dining room table.

"I noticed you are not wearing a corset, if I may be so bold to comment," Adele says. "Is this a result of the doctor's visit?"

"Yes, I felt that the garment might injure our baby and the doctor confirmed this," Christine replies. "I know that it is not fashionable – Veronique told me that her doctor insisted that a corset was perfectly fine – she said she, too, chose to be comfortable. That carrying a child was burden enough without constricting her breathing and her bladder."

Nadir clears his throat.

"Oh, dear, I am sorry, my love," Adele says. "We are all so close, I forgot to consider that this topic might be too much for mixed company."

Erik laughs. "Nadir seems to forget the times in Persian when he was forced to oversee the eunuchs in the Harem and some of the conversations overheard then. The women spoke of more than corsets – which they knew little or nothing about – but, well…"

"Stop," Nadir says. "While I am completely aware of the physical differences and needs between men and women, I am not certain they are subjects for conversation – even among friends."

"You are just prude," Erik grunts. "Admit it."

"All right, I admit it – happy?"

"Yes, I am."

"It is bad enough being engaged to a woman who has two young women living with her – both with beaus, I might add," he complains. "I am to be married but never have a moment alone with _my_ love, much less having time to post our banns."

Adele pats him on the cheek. "I agree, dear one." Turning her attention to Erik and Christine. "You see, if Raoul is not visiting Monique – Darius is with Meg. We have tried spending time at Rue Rivoli, but often find Darius and Meg there because Raoul is at my flat…well, you get the idea."

After patting her hand, Nadir says, "Enough of this chitchat – I apologize if it makes me uncomfortable. This talk stirred a pot from which I no longer have any interest in eating – spent too many years overseeing the romantic adventures of others.

"I am sure it will all work itself out – for now shall we address the reason we are having this meeting?" To Erik, he says, "You suggested we visit the church and the pastor. I wonder if it is wise, because of the nature of the crime, that Christine and Adele accompany us."

"You wonder what?" Adele barks. "You think a heathen and a Moslem are appropriate? Christine – despite her birth religion – and I have actually attended Mass at that church – it has been my parish for decades –and have actually conversed with the Pastor – Monsignor Carletone."

"It was a woman who was murdered – for her child. However informed you may be on these matters, I feel that Adele, who has given birth, and I, who carries a child, might be able to contribute information unavailable to you men," Christine adds.

"May I just note we have both been gifted with the love of two strong women with whom it is unwise to argue," Erik comments drily. "Just thought I would mention that before we continue with discussions about this issue."

Nadir harrumphs and nods. "I lost my head. Forgive me."

Adele pinches him on the cheek. "I am sorry, my love. While I am happy to now be dressing in a more flattering way, but I still have a bit of a strict way to my behavior."

"A bit?" Erik says, "You are the mistress of understatement…that said, shall we discuss how we wish to proceed when we arrive to speak to the Monsignor, en masse?"

"Another thought, while we are discussing this is, since Giselle is a part of your firm, I think she be included in the investigation," Christine adds.

"Agree entirely," both Erik and Nadir chime in.

"Neither of you saw this, but she swooped down from the flies to thwart M. Robert when he threatened Erik," Nadir continues. "Looking back, I appreciate her fearless behavior."

"Truly?" Christine asks. "Leaving aside the reason for her act – that sounds like fun."

Erik shakes his head. "I shall have her teach you – once the child has been born – but not before." Rolling his eyes. "Fun, indeed."

Adele and Nadir snicker.

"Well it does," Christine huffs.

* * *

Meg and Darius sit at the coffee table putting a jigsaw puzzle together depicting the map of Paris.

"This is quite frustrating, you know," she pouts, flopping back on the settee. "All the pieces look alike."

"First we must find those with straight edges and put them to one side," Darius explains, showing her what he means, picking up several and moving them to a corner of the board the puzzle will be set up on. "They create the border, after that we shall concern ourselves with filling in the middle."

"But why?"

"Because it helps with concentration and developing patience and recognizing patterns" is his calm response. "My new position requires these qualities and I had hoped both of us could engage in the puzzle solving. We will also have a nice picture to hang on the wall once it is completed."

"But it is not fun."

He looks up at her from his sorting, brow furrowed. "You are aware that M. Erik and M. Kahn are to be investigating the murder of a woman left at L'Eglise de la Madeleine?

"Yes, Maman told us – me and Monique – of it last night. How did you know?"

"I saw your mother and M. Khan leaving as I arrived. M. Khan wishes me to lead the investigation once they find out all the particulars."

"That is wonderful!"

"It is, but I must better my skills," he says, returning to his sorting.

"You think it is fun, though? Even if it helps your work – you enjoy doing puzzles for their own sake?" She sighs deeply, leaning forward, elbows on her knees, propping her head on her fists. "Of course, you do. I am sorry. Maman is always telling me to be still – not just speaking, but moving. I find both difficult – dancing seems to be the only worthwhile thing I do – where I can be moving all the time. Speaking – well, I just say what comes to mind in the moment."

"And, perhaps I am too sedentary, sitting and pondering too much," Darius replies, leaning back to put an arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple. "My early life was somewhat inhibiting – standing for long hours with nothing to do _but_ think."

* * *

" _Darius, what is your estimation of the situation between Marjeet and Harim?" Nadir asked him._

" _As the chief eunuch, he has more access to the harem than I, so I cannot truly comment."_

" _I desired your opinion, based on what you have observed and surmised – not what you know for fact."_

" _They are engaged in sexual activity, likely at her insistence. His absenting himself from the hall when she appears, suggests he wishes to end it."_

" _But?"_

" _But since he has not ended it, it seems she has likely threatened him with exposure."_

" _Do you think the Shah is aware of this?"_

" _No – he is quite preoccupied with his new wife. Marjeet does not care for the Shah and is quite content that he is no longer seeking her favors. Why risk her own demise?"_

" _So Harim is in no real danger from her threats?"_

" _No. She actually thinks his behavior is amusing and, if I may say, exciting. When he sneaks away, she laughs."_

" _Thank you, Darius."_

" _You are welcome, Daroga Khan."_

* * *

"The work at the harem – was there much…physical activity going on? Kissing and the like?"

"Not that you could readily observe," he replies. "My job was to report any sexual contact were it to occur in my view. That seldom happened. Occasionally a caress or kiss was exchanged, but that was rare – the risk was too great and the women were very careful about the slaves and eunuchs with whom they would flirt. Some were stupid enough to believe that if they blackmailed or told of a request for intimacy by a wife, they would somehow escape punishment or be granted privilege. As I told you, the Shah was very jealous. He might not remember the names of his wives or even how many he had without checking with someone, but they were _his_ wives – his property."

"If we married, would you consider me your property?"

Unsettled by the question, he mumbles, "I have not thought about that."

"Getting married or me being your property?" she presses, snuggling closer to him.

"Neither."

"I do not believe you, but I shall leave the question alone for now. Perhaps you will think about it now," she giggles. "Do you like kissing?"

"I have enjoyed the kisses we have exchanged." His smile is weak, but grateful. "Is that what you would like to do instead of the puzzle?"

"Yes, to be honest. You always seem to like it when I am honest."

"That is true," he admits. "Is there anything else besides kissing that you might…wish…to…do?" Heat rises to his face, tinging his cheeks pink, realizing how his question might be received.

"Could we take a ride on a penny-farthing?"

"A bicycle?" he laughs, a tad too loud.

"Yes, it looks like it might be quite fun."

"Well, I suppose we could try that – in fact, I believe it would be great fun, as you say."

"Good. For now, though, I would like some kissing – then maybe we could work on the puzzle."

"That seems to be an excellent compromise – saving the cycling for a day when you are not dancing."

He leans back into the sofa, pulling her onto his lap.

She rest her head on his chest, picking at his vest. "I love you, you know? There is no one like you in the world."

"You are a special person, Meg," he replies, stroking her blonde curls.

"Do you love me?"

"As much as I can," he replies, knowing that is not the answer she wishes.

"But you do love me?" Her blue eyes seeking confirmation in his.

"I would not be here did I not. I am still not certain that what I might offer you is enough."

"Kiss me then, perhaps I will persuade you to love me more."

"Perhaps you will." Lifting her chin with his fingers, he presses his mouth to hers.

She returns the pressure, then intensifies the kiss – her lips opening, forcing his to part as well. Taking a chance, she darts her tongue into his mouth.

His arms tighten around her, his own tongue teases hers.

After a few moments, he pulls back to smile at her. "Perhaps you will indeed."

Meg laughs, then returns to her task of persuasion.

* * *

"Shall we go, I am not certain we can do much more without speaking to Pastor Carletone," Erik says, rising from the table – I shall just wash these dishes."

"Let me fetch my bonnet and cape, then I will assist you," Christine says walking into the sitting, noticing her discarded costume on the floor, she scoops it up taking it into the bedroom with her.

"I will help with the clearing," Adele offers, turning back to see if Christine is completely out of earshot. "I wish she would just stay home and rest."

"As do I," Erik replies. "Do you care to broach the subject to her? I have already tried and failed. We must simply make our visit short, so she can come home and rest."

"I cannot believe she baked bread in the middle of the night."

"Restless. I think the emotions of the past days are pressing on her. If it becomes necessary, I shall have the understudy perform tomorrow night."

Nadir strolls into the kitchen, disturbing their whispering. "Talking about me?"

"No, we are concerned about Christine getting enough…"

"I am quite fine, all of you," Christine says, pinning on her straw bonnet abloom with blue silk flowers and ribbons. There is no denying that her appearance validates her comment. "I shall nap when we come home, but you are not keeping me from this meeting, so just forget the thought."

"Damnation," Nadir curses, patting the pockets of his frock coat. He returns to the sitting room and checks underneath the chair where he was sitting. "Damnation."

"What is it, daroga?" Erik calls after him.

"I forgot the papers with my notes about the girl and Dr. Gerard," he replies, returning to the kitchen. "I thought I put them in my pocket, but they must be in the office still. That woman began chattering again about doilies or some such and all I could think about was going home to bed."

"We women becoming too much for my bachelor to handle?" Adele asks.

"Never you, Madame Giry, never you. The doctor's wife and the girls, however…" He shrugs.

Rubbing his back with her hand, she kisses his cheek and says, "I agree – we shall have to work that out – the privacy issue with Meg and Monique."

Clearing her throat, Christine interrupts. "To give her credit, Mme. Gerard did allow us a respite from the horror and sadness of Marie-Corrine's death." Taking the towel from Adele to wipe the dishes Erik has washed, she stacks them in the cupboards.

Adele chuckles, "I felt as though I was in two places at once – or she was. Such a contrast in personalities – she and the doctor."

"I doubt he hears her," Christine says. "Much as my Mamma and Pappa loved each other, there were times when she was talking and not concerned if he was listening or not – he usually was not. There was no doubt, however, they loved one another."

Assessing the kitchen, finding it suits his sense of order, Erik says, "Then shall we return to the office and take our leave out the front door of the Opera House?"

The two couples make an about face, leaving the kitchen to go through the sitting room and the door leading to the lake.

"Will this skiff carry four of us?" Adele wonders aloud, pulling her cloak around her to buffer the abrupt change from warmth to the damp chill of the caverns.

"It will be a bit tight for the three of you, but we can manage. I do not want to take both of them," Erik says, taking his position at the back, holding the pole while Nadir guides the women into the small boat, following them and untying it from the mooring.

* * *

Monique repeats plie after plie, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, foot and arm positions. Then mixing them up 1st with 5th, 3rd with 2nd. The work is rote, she seems to be in a trance, running through the motions, but not even checking herself in the mirror. After doing the seemingly endless combinations facing one direction, she turns to begin all over again with her left hand helping her balance.

"Monique, your plies are gorgeous – why not run the routine for the show with the rest of us instead?" asks Nicole – tall, thin and elegant, but often kept from dancing with a partner because en pointe, she tended to tower over the men.

"I shall, I shall – I simply must do these correctly."

"My dear, your plies are beautiful and your hands are perfection – rehearsal is difficult enough without adding unnecessary tedium," Nicole tells her, as she takes the arm of her friend and walks her over to where Raoul is sitting patiently waiting.

He smiles at the ballerina. "Thank you."

With a curtsey, she nods her head and returns to the troupe who are teaching Andre some basic steps.

"You do not have to stay, you know," Monique says. "This must be terribly boring for you."

"I am happy to spend time with you – watching you dance gives me much joy. If this helps you deal with the recent events, then I am fine," he responds.

There is an almost imperceptible shift in her stance – a relaxation of her shoulders and hips. "The dancing does help."

"Yes, I see that. Whatever you need, Monique, I shall attempt to provide, even if that means leaving when you are tired of seeing me."

Her face softens and she smiles at him.

The pale blue eyes, imploring her favor, brighten at her acceptance of him.

"I need to speak with Madame – a question about the performance tonight. She asked if I wished to dance a solo – something she added to the program – I am concerned that I am not ready," she says. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all – this would be a perfect time to take a break for luncheon," he replies.

* * *

Erik, Christine, Nadir and Adele file out of the Phantom Security office.

Nadir with a folder containing his notes, tightly held in his right hand, still puffing from the climb. "I am happy we took nourishment before embarking on this journey, we shall all be ready for a nap once this afternoon is behind us."

"I admit I could have done without the trek up through the tunnels," Adele comments.

"It is good exercise," Christine says, in an attempt to balance Nadir's obvious discomfort.

"As the youngest person in this group, I would expect that comment from you," Erik chuckles.

"I am walking for two – just remember that."

"The thought is never far from my mind."

"What is this?" Nadir says, stopping short. "Will it never end?"

Erik sniggers, "Patience, old man, although I understand your feelings about le Vicomte's seeming omnipresence."

"Hush," Christine admonishes. "They will hear you."

"Raoul, Monique, what a nice surprise," Adele calls out to them, casting a side eye at Erik and Nadir as she watches the couple approach them from the opposite end of the passageway.

"Oh, Madame, I am so happy to see you here. I wished to speak with you briefly about tonight," Monique says. "Christine, M. Erik, M. Kahn – so nice to see you as well."

"As am I," Raoul says, although his smile seems forced and his shoulder slump as he shifts from standing next to Monique to behind her.

"Why are you hiding, Raoul," Erik smirks. "No one is going to bite you."

"Stop it," Christine says. "Hello Monique, Raoul – have you been here all morning?"

"They left quite early," Adele responds for them. "Have you been rehearsing?"

"Yes, I am concerned about the solo. I am not certain I am ready."

"You will be just fine," Adele tells her. "It will do you good – in the solo you can be free – not have to be conscious of where the other girls are moving. My feeling is this is something you might need and grow to like."

"As you say, Madame, thank you," Monique replies. "I am sorry to interrupt – are you going to luncheon?"

"We actually just had a late breakfast," Erik tells her. "I look forward to seeing you dance tonight. Three of my favorite ladies bringing grace and joy to this horrid opera."

"Erik!" Christine exclaims.

"It really is, Christine," Nadir says.

Even Monique finds humor in this comment and laughs. "Sadly, I must agree, M. Khan, however, I shall never complain about being able to dance."

"Nor I to sing."

Raoul is the only person removed from the camaraderie.

"Will you be in attendance tonight?" Nadir asks him.

"Yes, I look forward to seeing Monique perform, as always. To watch her solo premiere will be especially pleasing to me."

"Well, now that is taken care of, we must go," Adele says, initiating their exit by tugging at Nadir's arm.

"I understand there was a murder…" Raoul says.

"Yes?" Erik says.

"Monique told me," he says. "I just wondered if there was anything I could do to help. To make up for any of my mishaps from the other night."

"That is admirable of you, Vicomte," Erik says. "I suppose the more people who know about this, the more information we can gather, to find out who the girl was and what provoked someone to want her life ended.

"A young woman, perhaps 19 or 20, was found in L'Eglise de la Madeleine day before yesterday – the day after the dress rehearsal. Apparently she was the third woman to be found there. We only have her name – Arnault."

Raoul's face blanches, he sucks in his breath, bending over as if struck.

"Raoul," Monique says, taking his arm. "What is wrong?"

"Marie-Corrinne Arnault?"

"Yes."

"You know her?" Nadir asks.

"Oh, God," Raoul cries. "The baby? Is the baby dead as well?"

"How do you know her name? How do you know about a baby?" Christine asks him her hand reflexively stroking her stomach.

"The baby…is mine."

"Yours?" She shakes her head. "How? When?"

"Before you," Raoul growls. "Before you." He repeats, the tone softer.

"Well, well, well," Erik says, raising his eyebrow.

"Is the child alive?" In a rush, he grabs Erik by the lapels, their faces close to touching, catching him off guard. "Please tell me."

Erik glares at him. Taking a step back, he takes the vicomte's hands, wincing with his own pain at the effort, shoving him away. "Never touch me."

Raoul stumbles.

"We do not know where the baby is," Erik says.

"Why not?" Monique asks, placing her arm around Raoul's shoulder to steady him.

Straightening his frock coat and adjusting his cravat, Erik presses his hand against his wound and says, "The infant was removed surgically, by someone who knew what he was doing – a doctor or someone in training. Marie-Corrinne's death itself appeared to have been by asphyxiation – from chloroform. It is unlikely she suffered."

"Oh, God. Oh, dear God," Raoul cries. His body shakes and he cannot find a place for his hands as they reach out to grasp the air – fighting a demon of his own – one the others cannot see.

Monique turns him around to gather him close. "Shush, my love. Shush." Rocking him back and forth, she whispers, "Oh, my poor Raoul."

"Is young Andre around today?" Adele asks.

"Yes, he was in the rehearsal room learning to dance ballet," Monique says, holding Raoul's head to her shoulder, smoothing his hair with the back of her fingers.

"What will he not be able to do by the time he is grown?" Adele mutters. "I shall fetch him to deliver a note to Pastor Carletone, telling him that we shall be delayed." Glancing at Raoul, she adds, "One to le Comte as well, I should think."

"Thank you, Adele," Nadir sighs, "we shall be in the Security office when you return."

Nadir takes one of Raoul's elbows with Monique holding the other, bracing him as he stumbles forward, guiding him to the office.

Christine slips her own hand under Erik's to comfort his injury.

With a squeeze to her fingers, he lifts his chin, indicating they follow the sad trio.

"What now?"

"I do not know."


	6. Alliances

ALLIANCES

Erik and Christine meld into one another on one settee, hands entwined, her blue skirt partially covering his legs. Raoul's admission draws them closer to one another, affirming the rightness of their bond. In contrast, on the other settee, Monique holds a Raoul who has pulled into himself, staring and numb, barely aware of the rest of them – even her, despite efforts to comfort him.

With the exception of Nadir preparing tea for the group after finding seating in the Security office, they maintain a state of stasis – no conversation, no movement beyond a shifting to find more comfort in their chairs and to take an occasional sip of tea. Thanks to an unspoken agreement among them, they wait for Adele's return and, more significantly – Phillippe's arrival.

Adele was back within minutes. "I do not know how long it will take Andre to run his errands. To save time, I did send him first to your home, Vicomte," she rambles. "Thankfully, Henri was available to take him in the coach. The boy has enormous energy, but if he can ride, why force him to run. That child is a treasure."

The silence, when she completes her report, is unnerving, her words falling on seemingly deaf ears. "I see," she says, saying no more. Preparing a cup of tea for herself. She draws her fingertips across Nadir's back, kissing him lightly on the cheek, then circles the desk to sit in Erik's chair.

Christine reaches out to touch Adele's arm as she passes. The older woman pats her hand in return.

Nadir raises his eyes to her, curving his lips into a half smile.

In what seems an eternity, in fact, little more than half an hour, a sharp rap on the door rouses all of them from their reveries. Phillippe Comte de Chagny enters the room without invitation, commanding the room with his presence. A gray wool top hat accentuates his natural height, an elegant gray swallow-tail coat completes the monochromatic look he prefers. Removing the hat, he gives a slight bow to each of the ladies, then says, "Good afternoon to all of you. I understand that my brother is involved in a criminal situation?"

"Not directly, not as the criminal – a victim, in fact. Please sit," Erik says indicating the guest chair alongside the desk, then proceeds to inform Phillippe of the background and circumstances of the crime and Raoul's involvement.

Phillippe moves the chair so that he can face everyone in the room. Once seated and without further ado, Phillippe asks Raoul, "Is this the girl we have been supporting?"

The younger brother nods.

"You said she was agreeable…"

"We argued. She decided to give the child away for adoption – was in touch with some people who help unwed mothers find homes for their unwanted babies."

"This child was not unwanted. It was understood that she would keep the child and we would support both of them."

"She said she did not want the child – did not wish to be a mother. Her career…"

"Damn her career."

"I believe that is no longer an issue, Comte," Erik interrupts. "Who was she, Vicomte?"

"An actress with Comedie Francaise, we met after a performance…"

* * *

" _Monsieur Vicomte, I am so honored that you even noticed me in the repertory," Marie-Corrinne Arnault, remarked at the ebullience with which Raoul spoke of her performance._

 _Little more than an extra, having but three lines scattered throughout the current production at the Comedie Francaise, she was, nevertheless, well aware of her physical beauty – the classic oval face, doe-eyes of deep brown and full bowed lips. Her acting skills were still being developed, but the director knew that her physical presence would draw patrons as well as an audience. Her "role" had her clothed in a minimal costume consisting primarily of a chemise and stockings, making entrances and exits at random times throughout the production._

" _What your role lacks in substance is made up for by your charisma," Raoul said, handing her a large bouquet of red roses. "Are you free for supper?"_

" _Yes, I am," she replied. "Give me a moment while I add some streetwear to my so-called costume."_

* * *

"You are most predictable, Vicomte – an actress, a singer, a dancer – who was it before Marie-Corrinne? Who next, when Monique grows tired of your self-absorption?" Erik sneers.

Monique flinches. "Please, M. Erik, this is not the time to review the past, nor is our future any of your concern." Lips flatten into a straight line, her blue eyes steady, but without accusation.

Erik flushes, chastened. "You are correct – I apologize. You are the last person I would wish to insult."

Monique acknowledges his apology with a nod. "I know. We are all distressed over this news. For now, I feel that Raoul needs all our support – blame can be laid once the crime has been resolved. There is a child's life at issue here now."

"I loved Christine," Raoul growls, sitting back, folding his arms over his chest. "I was prepared to die for her – do not dare to pretend otherwise or try to excuse your own behavior."

"You would have her dead."

Monique's face goes white, her eyes darken, unsettled after an earlier calm.

Christine contemplates the growing chasm between Monique and Raoul – before locking clear eyes with the ballerina's confused gaze.

Monique tilts her head and frowns. _Is this true?_ She mouths.

Christine licks her lips and opens her mouth to speak, instead settling on a quick nod.

Monique shifts her weight, resting her body against the arm of the settee, a fist pressed to her mouth.

"Enough – both of you," Nadir snarls. "As Monique has suggested, none of this is relevant to what we are trying to determine. He wipes his forehead with a handkerchief. "Let us all calm down and try to make some sense of this and whether Raoul's paternity is a reason for the girl's death."

"Of course, you are correct, Daroga. I shall keep my comments directed to my relationship with Marie-Corrinne." Raoul says. "What do you want to know?"

"You had a relationship?" Nadir continues.

Raoul nods. "Of a sort, she was not shy about telling me that she was willing to be kept. I was young and attractive...and rich, although she did not say as much – it would actually be quite fun." His head drops into his hands.

* * *

" _How did you come to work at the Comedie Francaise?" Raoul stammered, examining the apartment, trying to avoid staring at her. Upon entering the 3_ _rd_ _floor flat, she turned up the gas light on the wall next to the door, then proceeded to disrobe – unconcerned that he was not entirely inside the room nor that the door was still ajar._

 _The flat was plain, but not poor – better than he expected – private, no roommates suggesting income from a source other than the theater. A bed/sitting room with a small kitchen – a drape shrouding what he assumed to be a bathroom._

 _Finally allowing his eyes to settle on her, he could not turn away._

 _Marie-Corrinne stood, hand on a cocked hip, grinning at his dismay. Her body was as perfect as her face – starting with generous, plump breasts, the areoles dark. The roundness of her full hips and thighs, slimming to shapely calves and trim ankles, were flawless. He was mildly shocked at the ease with which she stood before him, completely naked, no sign of shame or discomfort._

" _I work for my living," she had told him. "Some situations pay more than others."_

" _Acting?"_

 _Laughing, she answered, "That, and other things. I am also a model – for those nasty photographs you hide in your drawer."_

 _His brow furrowed – eyes squint. "How di…"_

 _A flip of her wrist flit his fears of discovery away. "All men have them in hiding places – bringing them out to…encourage satisfaction in moments of… loneliness. This is a favorite pose for many." With a few swift movements, she leans against her dressing table, her hands resting on the edge of the sturdy wood – lifting one foot onto the bench, with her legs spread, her private area exposed to him. Eyes half-closed, a wicked smile on her face, she swings her knee from side to side._

 _Catching his breath, Raoul stuttered, "I am not sure what you want me to do."_

" _What would you like to do?"_

" _Uh…"_

" _Lick me, suck my clitty…poke me with your prick?" An eyebrow quirked._

 _Raoul blinked and nodded, lowering his eyes. "All of those things."_

" _More?"_

" _Yes."_

" _Show me."_

 _Fumbling with his trousers, her smirk as she watched him disrobe did not dissuade him. He is completely aroused. Neither the heat rising to his face nor her mockery lessen his desire to take her. His lack of experience in such things matter not – Marie-Corrinne will take care of him – this he now knows._

 _Kneeling in front of her to taste what she offered him, he briefly cups her breasts before running his fingernails down the length of her body, finally reaching his desired destination, the dark slit he had only seen in pictures – pictures that followed him into his dreams. "Oh, yes." Spreading her lips, he hesitates for only a moment before pressing his mouth to that place of mystery. Her hands grasping his hair, low moans goaded him to sink his tongue deeper, nipping at her bud with his teeth._

 _That first need sated, his member ached for release. Rising to his feet, he grabbed her buttocks, lifting her onto the vanity and thrust himself fully into her. The perfect legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he plunged deeper and deeper until, with a shudder, he came._

 _Breathing heavily, he allowed her to slide her legs down and stand, his head buried in the crook of her neck._

" _Your first time?"_

" _Yes."_

" _Tolerable." Grasping him by the shoulders, she pushed him aside to pick up a dressing gown from the edge of the bed and drew it over her body, then wiped herself with a cloth she took from a drawer in the nightstand._

" _How much?" Looking away from her, he took her lead, pulling on his drawers and trousers. A straightened shirt and jacket and he was, once again, the elegant vicomte._

" _If you are pleased, we can make an arrangement good for both of us," she said, tossing the rag on the bedside table._

" _I am pleased."_

* * *

"I arranged a nicer flat for her and a generous allowance." His eyes stare straight ahead, voice toneless. "Not too long after, I went to the Opera and saw Christine again." He raises his eyes to meet hers, receiving nothing in return. "I knew that I could not continue with Marie-Corrinne. I offered her a continued allowance, but would not go forward with our assignations – I did not wish her to return to her former employment."

"I see – a good Samaritan," Erik says.

Nadir groans.

"Did you see her afterward? You must have," Adele asks.

"Not intimately, if that is what you mean." Not meeting her gaze. "She sent me a note, saying she had to see me."

"She was with child," Monique says.

"Yes."

"Excuse me," Christine interrupted their dialogue to ask her own question, "to be clear, you were no longer involved with Mlle. Arnault when you were courting me?"

"Correct. When I saw you again, I could never go back to her in that way." Tears fills his eyes as he responds. "Please know that."

Erik stiffens.

Nadir and Adele side-eyed one another before turning their gaze to their friend.

Sensing their concern, Christine brings Erik's hand into both of hers, turning away from Raoul. "I am simply curious to know, Comte Phillippe, if your assumption about my being with child when we met at Mme. Giry's, was related to Raoul's…situation with Marie-Corrinne."

"I must admit, Madame, that it was," Phillippe says.

"I see." Christine frowns, but sits back, resting against Erik and signals with a wave of her hand for Raoul to continue.

"Yes, she was with child. I had proposed to Christine, then all the business with Erik was an issue – I did not know what to do."

"Are you sure it was your child?" Nadir asks. "Not to offend, but the mademoiselle did not seem to be one to, shall we say, be faithful to one suitor."

"She was receiving a sizable allowance. I also had someone checking on her periodically." Phillippe casts a brief glance at Raoul, who avoids his eyes. "The agreement was no more men – I had no intention of supporting a woman who might be selling her body on the side, if I may be so blunt," he says. "Raoul insisted."

Adele coughs. Christine and Monique merely stare at him.

Straightening in his chair, Phillippe's eyes move to each of the women in the room and clears his throat. "Perhaps I was excessively blunt – my apologies, ladies."

His apology is met with a variety of snorts from all present with the exception of Monique and Raoul. She lowers her eyes; he grinds his teeth.

Dismissing all of them, Phillippe continues, "When she announced the pregnancy, we had it verified as best we could – the time she was involved with Raoul and a doctor's report as to her term. A sizable increase in her allowance was arranged for her to have the child and raise it.

* * *

" _I do not want to mother your brat – or any brat. It is one thing to become a nun, quite another to spend any part of my life washing nappies and cleaning up after a child. After all these months, I just want to be rid of it."_

" _But you agreed."_

" _I agree to many things, but I can change my mind," she sneers. "I have been offered a nice sum for the child when it comes."_

" _How much?"_

" _50,000 francs and care until the child is born. I cannot be here alone. I shall go to a home for the last weeks of my term."_

" _I shall give you 75,000 and will see to it that you have a midwife with you for the remainder of your time, so that you will not be alone here, in your home."_

" _Are you certain your brother will consent?"_

" _The child is de Chagny."_

" _Very well, I agree. I must deal with the people with whom I made the agreement. When it is settled, I will let you know and your nursemaid can move in. I am seeing the doctor to determine how soon it will be born."_

* * *

"May I ask why you would want this woman to raise your child? Raise any child?" Erik asks.

"The family," Raoul snorts. " _It would disgrace the family if we brought it home._ Correct, Phillippe?"

"That is enough," Phillippe says. "For the past year, you have done nothing but engage with one woman after another, expecting me to take care of each of them in some way, when you have not a clue of what it takes to be a man."

Raoul's face burns as he rises from the settee, snatching his arm away from Monique, who attempts to keep him in his seat. "If I had agreed to taking the child immediately – let one of our sisters raise the baby, hired a wet nurse – a nursemaid – none of this might have happened," Raoul counters thrusting his face into Phillippe's. "Do not preach to me about being a man."

Phillippe rises, his height imposing, and glares at his brother. "Sit down."

Their eyes lock, neither willing to back down.

"Enough with the bickering. Both of you sit down," Nadir orders.

The Chagnys return to their seats

"The problem is that it did happen," Erik says. "The issue now is finding the baby and the murderer."

"When was this conversation?" Nadir continues.

"The day that M. Robert was killed."

"Marie-Corrinne was found dead the next day – after we saw her at Dr. Gerard's," Christine says.

"She backed out of the adoption contract and they murdered her to take the baby," Erik concludes.

"I wonder if they are aware of who the father is," Nadir says.

"I suspect that we shall know when we open this missive," Phillippe says, pulling an envelope from the pocket inside his coat. He hands it to Raoul. "It is addressed to you."

Raoul takes the envelope, his eyes questioning.

"If I were to guess," Erik says, "it is a ransom note."

Nadir puts out his hand, "May I see it Vicomte?"

With a shaking hand, he allows Nadir to take the white square with his name written in fine script on the front.

"Sent it through the post – very clever – no chance any of the servants seeing how it came to us," Phillippe says. "I must say, I was not terribly surprised when young Andre appeared requesting my presence here."

Nadir rubs his eyes. "As we all suspected – ransom. They want 250,000 francs for the boy."

"It is a boy?" Raouls asks.

"Healthy, baby boy. Being cared for."

"Thank God."

"There is no reason to harm the child – if the de Chagnys do not come up with the money, they have the other people. That is something," Erik says, walking to the desk, taking the letter from Nadir. "Fine stationary, good hand – someone who is educated and with a certain amount of taste." Waving the letter under his nose, he says, "Violets. Although that is rather common fragrance in Paris – what with all the nosegays carried to minimize the smells of the city – still…many men wear the scent as well. Also a bit of tobacco?" He hands the letter back to Nadir. "What do you think?"

Nadir nods. "Black ink, nothing unusual there."

"If they have been committing these crimes as a business – I doubt they are impoverished," Adele says.

"It is ghoulish," Christine says. "How can people adopt the children of murdered women?"

"They likely do not know, my dear." Erik's voice is calm and soothing as he returns to his seat next to her. "I would imagine that most of the babies have been given up willingly – the mothers grateful to have homes for children they cannot care for. Also, to receive some sort of compensation. I do not understand the need to murder a woman who changes her mind. That is the horror in all of this."

"You are losing your cynicism, Erik. I suggest the new families might indeed know," Nadir says. "Some people are desperate for children and do not care how they get them. If they see a particularly attractive mother – they may want that child because it will be beautiful. Marie-Corrinne was beautiful if you, Christine, and Raoul are to be believed."

Erik glares at him. "I doubt that is the usual case, daroga. Beautiful mothers do not guarantee beautiful children."

Christine tugs on his arm and shakes her head. "Is this understanding so important?"

"I think it is," Nadir says. "Knowing the motive for a crime can help solve it." Sighing deeply, his sad eyes reach out to his friend. "You are a victim, Erik, I know that. What I also know is evil – the evil of mothers and would-be mothers and women who do not wish to be mothers and what can happen to children – Darius is a perfect example. At least here, there is some civility about all of it. This is – as you say a _horror._ "

"Oh, Raoul," Monique cries, taking his hand. "You must pay the ransom. You must have your child."

Both Erik and Nadir shake their heads.

"What we must do is contact Inspector Marquand – this is more than the murder of a prostitute. Extortion of a noble family is police business," Nadir tells them. "Killing women to sell their babies is beyond evil."

"I suspect that a contingency is also covered in the letter – that the police not be notified," Erik adds.

Nadir nods. "Adele and I were planning to visit the mairie to post our banns. A stop by the Inspector's office would not be out of the question."

"Should we not make the complaint?" Phillippe asks.

"You would be recognized – no, my lady and I will visit the Inspector. We are old friends." He stands up and gathers his papers from the desk.

"Monique would you like to return home?" Adele asks, rising from the desk, gathering her reticule. "We could drop you off?"

"Yes, I think that would be a good idea," Monique replies. Pulling her cloak tightly around her, she accepts Nadir's hand, helping her up. "I should have a meal and then rest before the show tonight," she says.

Raoul reaches for her arm. "We were going to lunch…"

"I think I need some time for myself right now, Raoul." Pressing her hand against his. "I shall not abandon you, but I need to be alone right now."

"I did tell you that I would leave you alone if you asked," he says. "I expect the police will wish to speak with me further and it best be done at home. I am sorry you had to hear all of this – in this way."

He leans to give her a kiss on the cheek, then stands by the door to wait for his brother.

Christine's eyes follow him.

"Christine?" Erik whispers in her ear. "My dear, are you all right?"

"What? Yes, I am fine. I was just lost in thought for a moment." Her smile is forced. "Did you want to return home? I think we should check your wound."

"Yes, all that. Are you certain you are all right?"

"I am not certain that question has a single answer," she laughs. "I suspect I will be better once I can process all this information and have some rest."

They rise from the settee, Erik keeping an arm around her waist.

"Monsieur le Comte, we shall be in touch," Erik says. "Nadir, you will let me know what happens with the Inspector? Monique, take care, you will be brilliant tonight." With a resigned sigh, he turns to Raoul who looks up at him under hooded eyes. "I promise we shall do all we can to retrieve your son and capture those who murdered his mother."

Raoul nods, stepping aside as Erik guides Christine through the door.

They turn down the hallway to her dressing room. "I believe I forgot to give you your chocolates last evening and a special gift, perhaps they can make up for my comments today."

"You only spoke the truth. You are a treasure, my husband, I need no chocolates or gifts, but if they are already purchased, I suppose I cannot refuse."

* * *

The mairie is surprisingly quiet, the expanse of gray marble and stone with accents of brass knobs and railings normally filled with the color and bustle of humanity has only the odd guard and a few stragglers from the offices rushing out to meet luncheon appointments.

"Good timing or bad?" Adele wonders aloud.

"Good, I believe – the registration office door is open," Nadir says, checking his watch. "We have fifteen minutes before they close for the noon meal."

Taking a moment before moving toward their destination – the elegant former ballerina and the dignified former daroga, face one another. Holding hands, swinging them back and forth, shy smiles gracing both their faces – each displaying the lines of experience and middle years – they kiss – a gentle sweet kiss. A kiss of relief after an already long day of friendship, tragedy and a confession about a sordid relationship. A kiss of promise for a new future for both of them, after giving up on the possibility of love at this time of their lives.

"I love you, Madame Giry."

"I love you, Daroga Khan."

"Shall we announce to the world our intention to wed?" he asks.

"Yes, before anything or anyone else decides that we must wait a bit longer."

After looking over their respective shoulders, scanning the foyer for any familiar faces, they run to the door of the Registry, laughing like children playing truant.

* * *

The sound of the door being unlocked jolts Meg and Darius, who pull apart to quickly rearrange their clothing. Meg tugs at the ribbon that had been holding her hair, but now hangs from one golden lock. Reddened, swollen lips are beyond their control to camouflage, so they attempt a calm presence by returning to the sorting of puzzle pieces.

Their eyes rise in unison to watch the door open, revealing Monique – alone. No sign of Madame and the daroga. Or, more significantly – Raoul.

Relief in the guise of nervous giggles erupts and Monique' brow furrows at their response to her arrival.

"What have you two been up to?" she asks, grinning, noticing Meg's skirt is askew and Darius is busy picking blonde hairs from his topcoat.

"We are working a jigsaw puzzle," Meg replies. "Darius thought it would be fun – and educational as well."

"Puzzles are wonderful for concentration and observation," he adds. "It will also make a wonderful wall hanging once we are finished."

"It does not appear that you have made much progress," Monique counters, sauntering to the table for a look at their work.

"First we must sort the pieces – the smooth edged ones need to be put aside," Meg explains.

"Hmmmm. Well, I am going to fix myself something to eat, then take a nap. You two carry on." Covering her mouth with her hand, she hurries into the kitchen before breaking out in laughter.

This is the first levity she can recall feeling in a very long time. The laughter soon turns to tears, as she cuts a baguette in half. Adding some slices of cheese retrieved from the larder, spreading a dollop of mustard on top before placing it on a plate, she stares at the sandwich, finding no appetite to eat it. Fingers digging at the countertop, she allows herself to simply cry – a relief, in and of itself. Away from watching eyes always so full of a pity and concern.

Now this added horror.

Pushing the plate away, her glance catches a glint of light from the knife, she picks it up, examining the blade, testing the sharpness with her thumb. She is so tired - it would be so easy. The pain no worse than what she experienced with M. Robert.

"Monique?" Meg says, walking into the kitchen. Gasping when she sees the knife, she contains her fear and says, "I thought I could make some sandwiches for Darius and myself. Perhaps we could enjoy a meal together."

Putting on a smile, Monique sets the knife back on the counter and turns to her friend. "I would like that."

"You are crying. What happened? Where is Raoul?" Meg asks, walking to Monique to hug her.

"Home – he is home."

"Did you quarrel?" She pulls back to see the older girl's face.

"He was…involved with the woman that was killed…the stolen baby is his."

Meg falls back, hand to her chest, eyes wide. "No."

"Yes. Tragically, yes."

"Come, we must let Darius know."

Monique allows Meg to lead her by the hand into the sitting room.

Darius interrupts his sorting of puzzle pieces and looks up at the distressed women. Leaping to his feet, he takes Monique's other hand and leads her to the sofa. "What happened?"

She tells them of the meeting, ending with "I do not know what to do. I love him despite all his misdeeds – he has been nothing but good and kind to me."

"You do not have to make any decisions now…or ever," Meg tells her. "He has no sense. I am silly, but he just always does stupid things. I do not trust him. There is something wrong with him."

Darius lifts his hand to stop her continuing. "If I may, it does not appear that the Vicomte really did anything to damage your situation with him. In fairness, Meg, he does seem to have changed."

Meg frowns at him. "He was with another woman. They made a baby. Now she is dead. People do not fare well around him. He is not nice." She jumps up from the sofa, then plops into her favorite arm chair, hugging the pillow to her chest.

"All this happened before he even knew Monique, is what I meant," he mumbles. "Perhaps I best keep my opinions to myself." He, too, stands up. "Would you like some tea?"

"You are right, of course," Monique says. To Meg, "He is, you know. Raoul may have done some foolish things in the past, but he is different now. In any event, we cannot always chose who we love, sweet Meg."

"I guess," Meg admits. "Just be careful."

"Meg," Darius warns.

"All right. All right," she says, rolling her eyes. Under her breath, she mutters, "You'll see."

Smiling at Meg's pout, Monique says, "Tea would be perfect, Darius, thank you – and perhaps the sandwich."

* * *

The warmth and privacy of their underground home is welcome after the downward trek through the tunnels from the Opera House and the meeting with Raoul and Phillippe. Erik assists Christine with her cape. Hanging his hat on its hook inside the doorway, he flops down on one of the kitchen chairs.

"Are you all right?" Christine asks. She unpins her bonnet and lays it on the countertop next to her reticule and the box of chocolates retrieved from her dressing room.

"Just achy," he admits, pressing his fingers against his temples.

Walking behind his chair, she bends over leaning against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Placing a kiss on his ear, she whispers, "Would you like me to run you a hot bath?"

Taking one of her hands in his, he presses his lips to each of her delicate fingers. "No, but I would not refuse one of your therapeutic massages of my poor head."

"Really?" she exclaims. "You would not mind? Oh, it hurts? I am sorry."

He leans his head back against her. "It does, but first, we need to look at the wound – I am concerned that it opened up."

"Oh, dear, of course."

Erik stands so she can slide the coat from his shoulders and arms, laying it over the back of a chair.

A small spot of red stains the sleeve of his shirt. "There does appear to be some bleeding." With that, the cravat is untied and they remove the gray, satin-faced waistcoat and his shirt. It only takes a moment to undo the bandage wrapping exposing the sutured injury.

Erik looks down and sighs, "Some breakthrough bleeding, but the stitching is secure. I was afraid that the sutures might have been pulled out. We only need to clean the area and re-bandage." A bluish-black bruise has appeared around the wound. "Perhaps some of the arnica gel – just do not allow it into the wound itself."

"Would you like a brandy?"

"No – maybe some of the willow bark," he says.

"Do not be upset because you pushed Raoul away – he deserved it." After pouring some of the tincture in a small glass of water, she hands it to him.

"Perhaps. Still, I over-reacted," he says. "Were someone to tell me that you were dead and our baby stolen, I believe I might have acted in the same manner."

"She was not his wife." Christine tends to cleansing the area around the wound, applying phenol to a gauze pad, smoothing the gel on the bruising, finally setting the new bandaging in place.

"Perhaps not, but the child is his. Believe me Raoul de Chagny is the last person for whom I would wish to have compassion." Looking down at her handiwork, he smiles. "You have quite mastered tending to wounds."

"We have certainly had enough between the two of us to learn from," she smirks. "How should I treat the stain on your shirt?"

"Pour some alcohol on the stain and let it soak in a bowl of cold water."

Completing her task, she says, "Let us get you to the bedroom and into a fresh shirt."

"We could both use a nap, I think."

Grabbing up his clothing, she takes his arm and they walk to the bedroom. "Erik – do you think Raoul told us everything he knows?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I do not necessarily think he is lying – maybe it is because Monique and I were there, but I do not believe he told us everything."

Letting go of his arm, she retrieves a clean shirt from the armoire, then helps him into it.

"You are asking if I think he actually ended his relationship with Marie-Corrinne when he started courting you and later took up with Monique?

"I suppose so. I did not want to put it into words," she sighs. "Do you?"

"No, I do not." Sitting on the bench at the end of the bed, he pulls her onto his lap. "The whole business of Phillippe having someone keep an eye on her. Hmmph. There is no way that woman was being left to her own devices carrying a Chagny child. What confuses me is why they allowed her to return to those people at all." Kissing her shoulder, he says, "I know that his deception must hurt you."

"It is not as though I was entirely faithful to him," she says, removing his mask and wig, placing them in her lap. Lying against his chest, she kisses his earlobe and the bottom of his chin.

"Nevertheless."

"He never did more than kiss me – even when we were planning to wed," she says. "I thought he was respecting my chastity."

"He likely was, my dear," Erik laughs. "I certainly tried, however difficult it was for me."

"I did seduce you, did I not?" Sitting up straight she looks him directly in the eye.

"You did not have to work very hard at it. Raoul played a role in that as well – I suppose I should thank him."

"For trying to kill me?" She slaps his shoulder. Leaning in to kiss him, she says, "I love my gift, by the way." Holding up the chain with a platinum charm made in the shape of a macaron with several small emeralds representing the cream filling.

"I am pleased that you like it – I had considered commissioning a herring, but the sweet seemed more suitable."

"I am so happy I chose to return to you."

Pulling her tightly to him with his good arm, he sighs into her hair. "As am I. Your choice was first class."

* * *

A/N - Thanks to Persephone and Pudding for vocabulary suggestions - they know what I'm talking about. Blushing.


	7. Misalliances

MISALLIANCES

Erik reclines on the royal blue velvet chaise in Christine's dressing room. A sheaf of staff papers propped against his bent knees. Humming what he sees on the pages, the rhythm is tapped out with his fingers. "What do you think of this?"

 _Love, love changes everything,_

 _Hands and faces, earth and sky._

 _Love, love changes everything,_

 _How you live and how you die._

 _Love, can make the summer fly_

 _Or a night seem like a lifetime._

 _Yes love, love changes everything,_

 _Now I tremble at your name._

 _Nothing in the world will ever be the same._

Christine stops applying rouge to her cheeks, puts down the brush and rises from her dressing table to stand behind him, looking at the music. She sings, haltingly at first – he joins in, guiding her with the melody.

 _Love, love changes everything,_

 _Days are longer, words mean more._

 _Love, love changes everything,_

 _Pain is deeper than before._

 _Love will turn your world around_

 _And that world will last forever._

 _Yes love, love changes everything,_

 _Brings you glory, brings you shame._

 _Nothing in the world will ever be the same._

"Is there more? It needs more."

"This is as far as I have gotten with it – you must take another nap, so I can finish it," he chuckles.

"Oh, was I singing in my sleep again?" Taking the completed pages from his hand, she returns to her bench. "You shall need more lyrics as well. Is this for the review?"

"Yes. We need to fill two hours at least and, so far, I am falling short."

"What about more songs from your opera?"

"You hate it."

"No, I do not hate _it_ – I do not like the ending, but I find much of the music innovative and exciting. I believe an audience would enjoy Beauty Underneath and Devil Take the Hindmost – perhaps some scenes could be added to the show. It cannot all be love songs or me singing essentially alone with the exception of a few songs with Andre. You could perform as well…"

"No. Nonono."

"It would be a redemption. You tell me I sing like an angel – and I _know_ that you _are_ an angel – I fell in love with your voice before I ever saw you."

A light knock interrupts their conversation. The door opens and Monique sticks her head in. "Oh, excuse me, I did not realize you might be here," she says, noticing Erik on the chaise.

"He is never far away," Christine laughs, looking over her shoulder at him. "Are you, my dear?"

"What, um, no," he fumbles the score, the papers falling to the floor. "Excuse me. Hello, Monique. I fear I was caught up in this music." He holds up his writing, retrieved from the floor. "The new work we are preparing to follow Hannibal."

"Was that you I heard singing? I thought I recognized Christine's voice, but dismissed the idea because I heard a man's voice as well."

"It was," he mumbles.

"The singing was wonderful, your voices are so perfectly matched – I foolishly believed it to be members of the chorus – now I can see how mistaken I was."

Erik bows his head. "Thank you. Christine would make anyone sound good."

"Actually, the opposite is true," Christine retorts, "You are the maestro."

Erik's ears are now a bright shade of pink, the flush reaching his cheeks. "Hmmmm."

"What is it I can help you with?" Christine asks, motioning the ballerina enter.

"That is all right, it can wait." Monique starts to back out the door. "I would not wish to interrupt."

"Nonsense," Erik says. "I shall go find someone else to annoy. There is nothing worse than a director once a show has opened." He rises from the chaise, puts the remainder of the music on the corner of Christine's dressing table and straightens his clothing. "I shall see if there are any new crew members I can frighten. It used to be such fun – now everyone knows who I am."

"Silly man. Give me a kiss," Christine says, reaching for his hand. "Will you be watching from Box 5?"

"Yes. I promised Andre he could watch the performance like a patron."

"He is not performing?"

"He told me he was tired from last evening and today's ballet lessons," Erik says, raising an eyebrow at Monique.

"Yes, the troupe was teaching him – I suspect they did tire him. He is not used to the discipline – not yet, anyway. We found him sleeping in his cubby when he returned from his errands."

"Ah, that makes sense – Veronique sought me out to ask if I could persuade him to take the night off from his acting duties as a soldier," he chuckles. "He acquiesced without any convincing. I suspect he will drop off before the end of Act II." Squeezing Christine's hand, he brushes her lips with his and putting on his hat, leaves the dressing room, excusing himself as he passes Monique.

Christine follows him with her eyes, then shifts her gaze to Monique. "Please sit down." She indicates the recently vacated sofa. The red, green and gold slave girl's costume is garish against the blue of the velvet chaise.

"One more burst of color and I fear our eyes will turn to fire. The hues of the wardrobe for this show are quite bold – they remind me of Christmas – all bright and gaudy." She flicks the baubles on her bodice. "I am so looking forward to the holidays this year – I may steal some of this fabric and beading to create decorations for the house." Gathering her dressing gown, she adjusts herself so that she directly faces Monique. "But, I am certain you are not interested in discussing Christmas, especially since it is only April – you are here to ask about Raoul."

"M. Erik is so different from when I was here before – he was not M. Erik, but the Opera Ghost – everyone was terrified," Monique comments, fidgeting with the fringe of her skirt.

"Yes, things were very different then – for all of us. I wish you could have been here, though – strange as it was, you would have been safe and unharmed." Christine folds her hands in her lap. "So, what would you like to know about Raoul?"

"He has not told me very much about you or his feelings, just that you were childhood friends."

"He is likely being a gentleman. However, that is true – we met as children at the seaside – Perros. He was there with his family and I was with my father. He was a violinist and played at the town's inn."

"Then he heard you sing…here?"

"Yes, this very opera."

"And you were kidnapped?"

"Yes, I suppose you could call it that – by the Phantom, as we knew him at the time," Christine says, her gaze shifts to the mirror door – similar to the one in her old dressing room. "He was my teacher – taught me to sing. When Raoul appeared, Erik became jealous and took me to his home. It was not a violent act."

"Much of that was happening before I was abducted." The sound of the word stops her short – a crooked smile curves her lips. "Odd, we were both taken against our will at around the same time."

Christine frowns and narrows her eyes. "I was not taken against my will – or abducted for that matter. Although if one wishes to think of it in that way, I was more fortunate with my abductor – I am so sorry you were forced to suffer so," she says. Rising, she walks over to a small table that holds a carafe of water and a few goblets. "Water?'

Monique nods. "I heard it was more serious than minor accidents," she says. "There was a murder and other violence."

Christine's face flushes, the aqua eyes darken and her nostrils flare. "There was no murder. Raoul resurrected the story that Erik killed Joseph Buquet, the crew supervisor, and insisted that Erik be captured – killed. That was untrue, Buquet met his death in an accident. The violence was directed at Erik. We fled to his home so he would not be killed."

"I am sorry, I did not mean to infer anything."

Handing Monique the cut crystal glass, Christine takes a deep breath and continues, "No, of course not." She clears her throat. "As I said – I had to make a decision. In the end, I chose Erik."

"Raoul did not handle it well?" Putting the glass on the floor, she folds her body toward Christine.

Returning to the bench, Christine sits down. "Are you certain you want to know all of this? Why not just accept that, despite everything that may have happened in the past, including his dealings with Marie-Corrinne, he loves you in a very special way?"

"How can I trust him, Christine?" Her fingers are knotted together, knuckles white from the pressure. "From what I discerned yesterday, he wanted you dead."

"You really need to ask these questions of Raoul." Christine's own hands are folded on her lap, quiet and calm.

"I still do not understand why he was involved with Marie-Corrinne?" Monique goes on. "He was still with her even when he wanted to marry you and, judging from the timing of all this, was with her even as he was courting me." The blue of her eyes glisten with tears.

Biting her lower lip, Christine hesitates, then says, "Erik believes it is a class thing. That it was all right for Raoul to seek out…relations with a woman who was at a lower level of society. If he wanted to marry a woman, she had to be at his level."

"But, he wanted to marry you…"

"Phillippe would never have allowed him to marry me – he told me as much." Christine's back stiffens – her lips flatten. She sighs. "Monique you know as much about Marie-Corrinne as I do. I am very uncomfortable talking about Raoul with you, I am sorry. It is only fair that he tell you his story. Erik and I have our theories – but that is all they are."

" _She was blackmailing him."_

" _Phillippe appeared to be aware of the situation."_

" _He likely approved the allowance – he has been supporting Sorelli for some time now, so money would not have been an issue. I wonder what she thinks about his interest in Giselle – and I do not mean the ballet."_

" _Very amusing. If what you say is true, I suspect she is none too pleased. You really are a gossip, my husband."_

" _Being a Phantom can be quite boring, I found entertainment where I could."_

" _The walls do have ears."_

" _And eyes."_

" _So when do you think Phillippe became aware of the true situation?"_

" _Knowing le Comte, he knew everything before Raoul did."_

" _That means Raoul was correct when he accused Phillippe of not stepping up immediately. I wonder why he did not."_

" _Maybe he did not believe it was Raoul's child."_

" _Or did not trust how much Raoul was asking for her care?_

" _Perhaps he wanted to meet with Marie-Corrinne to decide for himself."_

" _But it was too late."_

" _Yes."_

" _Andre, mon ami, where are you?_

" _Look up, M. Erik, I am on the catwalk."_

Erik lifts his eyes and sees the boy grinning down at him, waving a bowler hat. Dressed in his best suit of navy blue jacket, open at the waist to reveal a blue plaid vest beneath and tan trousers – one of the outfits that Erik gifted him. Clothing purchased by his mother and stored for his use, but never worn. The y fit the boy perfectly. "Come down, you are an honored guest this evening not a backstage monkey. Tonight we are gentlemen."

Andre grabs a rope and slides down the way Giselle taught him. Releasing the rope, he jumps the rest of the way and runs to Erik, dusting off his clothing. "Do you like this suit? Is it appropriate for tonight? Maman was concerned, but this was the most formal."

"Your maman was absolutely correct." Erik looks around. "Has she arrived yet? I would not wish for her to miss the performance."

"Mme. Giry and M. Khan will be seating her – they are arriving together after they go home to dress for the performance," Andre says, skipping along to match Erik's longer strides to the hallway leading to the back stairs. "She is very excited about seeing the opera tonight."

"Did she not watch you last evening?"

"Yes, but from backstage – she had to keep adjusting my tunic, the sword was so heavy, it kept slipping down and my drawers were showing."

One of his honking laughs escapes before Erik can control it and Andre looks at him in amazement. "Was that a trick voice, M. Erik? It was quite funny and loud?"

"I am afraid that is my real laugh, Andre, when I find something very amusing."

"Was I amusing?"

"The vision of your drawers falling down because of your sword was very amusing. We must tailor your costumes to fit you better and, perhaps, find a lighter weight sword. Your maman works hard enough in the office to be doing wardrobe duty as well."

"Can you teach me the laugh?"

"I believe that one person owning that laugh is quite sufficient."

"Well, I like it – it makes me laugh to hear it…" Andre stops and tugs on Erik's jacket. "Is that M. le Vicomte?" he asks pointing ahead of them at a man, slipping into a dressing room.

"I do not know – I did not see him." Erik picks up his pace and Andre jogs along, keeping up.

They both stop short as, indeed, Raoul comes out of a dressing room, not looking toward them, but continuing down the hall to the next door, which appears to be locked – then out of sight around a corner.

"He must be looking for Monique – that was her dressing room."

"Oh, she knows he is here," Andre informs him. "She was coming from the rehearsal hall, when she saw him come around one of the skrims backstage – she ducked behind one of the pillars until he passed."

"Interesting."

"It was sort of funny. Once he was gone, she went to M. Christine's dressing room."

""Yes, I was there when she arrived." He checks the hallway again, but it is empty. "You are becoming an excellent Phantom," Erik says, patting the boy on the back.

Andre beams at the compliment. "Thank you, M. Erik, I am doing my best."

"Let us get you to Box 5 – you can watch the audience arrive."

"So when he became involved with me – Phillippe was all right with that – even though I was a dancer?"

"You are of the nobility, Monique," Christine reminds her. "Once that was revealed, and the fact that Phillippe actually knew of your father, there was no issue. Dancing was your hobby – not your profession."

"But it is not a lark – it is the only thing in my life that gives me purpose…and joy."

"This is something else you must discuss with Raoul," Christine says as she moves over to the chaise. Taking Monique's hands in hers, she asks? "Have you informed your family as to what has happened to you?"

"No." Standing abruptly, she turns away from Christine.

"Monique, you must tell them – they can help you through this," Christine insists.

"I have Madame and Meg. Besides, my father disowned me – it does not matter in any event – I am twenty-two years – legal age."

"Why did he disown you?"

"Because I wanted to dance." Noticing her reflection in the mirror, she does a few releves, shifting positions, her movements swift and precise. "He called me a whore." Her laugh is bitter. "Ironic, is it not?

"But how are you surviving? The pay for ballet girls is so little?"

"That is why I have always lived with friends. However, he feels guilty enough to send me a stipend each month – just enough to survive, but not a sou more. He would not even watch me dance."

"I am sorry."

Facing Christine again, she says, "I am not. You spoke of Raoul wanting to control you – I see that in him and I do not like it – and will not accept it. My mother is a Scot – very stubborn." She allows herself a bitter laugh. "I am like her, I think. She is likely the reason father sends me anything at all."

"Can you see yourself as a mother to this child – when he is returned?"

Monique's pale skin fades to gray, the artificial blush on her cheeks is harsh, her lips a red gash. She falls back onto the chaise.

"Despite all that has happened, Erik and I have no desire to see Raoul hurt." Christine sits next to her and rubs her back. "He means well, but he is such a child in many ways. I hope the idea of being a father – and being loved by you – will change that. But, you must take care of yourself first. You have been through quite a lot and there is no need for you to make any decisions now."

"That is what Meg said." Some of her color returns, listening to Christine's calm voice.

"I do not always agree with Meg, she often speaks before thinking, but in this instance, I would say she is correct."

Monique rises again. "Thank you. I did not want to pry, but there is so much I do not know."

"Talk to him, Monique." Christine stands to give her a hug, ruffling Monique's cropped hair. "I may shear mine at some time – my curls are so unmanageable." Wrapping her arm around the dancer's waist, she leads her to the door. "We both need to prepare for the performance– we shall have five minute call to places sooner than we think."

She opens the door. As they walk into the hall, sharing another hug, they see Raoul approaching.

"Raoul," Monique exclaims. "I did not expect to see you before the show."

He holds out a single white rose to her. "I wanted to wish you good luck – what is the expression now? Break a leg. What a terrible thing to say to a dancer, but I understand it is the idiom."

Monique breaks away from Christine and moves to his side, taking the rose and kissing him on the cheek. "That is so sweet of you." She brushes her hand along the side of his face. "Are you all right? You look unsettled and anxious."

"Phillippe and I met with Inspector Marquand," he says, leaning into Monique, turning away from Christine. "We can discuss this later," he whispers.

"Of course." Monique looks back at Christine, brow furrowed.

Christine shrugs. "Hello, Raoul," she says, "I do hope that your son is returned to you quickly and safely. I cannot imagine your pain." Finding her stomach under the dressing gown, she comforts herself.

Taking her measure from head to toe, Raoul says, "Thank you." Bowing slightly, he takes Monique's elbow. "May I accompany you to your dressing room?"

"Yes, of course." With one more look at Christine, she says, "Thank you for speaking with me. I look forward to hearing the new song when it is completed – the review sounds most exciting."

"Best be on your way. You will be brilliant tonight."

Watching them recede, she starts when Raoul looks back at her. Unsettled, she darts into her dressing room, closing the door – pressing her back against it. "Dear God, please protect her. Please protect them both."

"Why were you visiting Christine?" Raoul asks, attempting to keep his tone light, yet pressing his fingers tightly into her arm.

"You are hurting me." Monique pulls her arm away from him. "I shall not tolerate anyone touching me harshly ever again – or questioning with whom I speak."

His body sags, shoulders drooping, he leans against the wall of the narrow hallway. "I am sorry."

"Why are you here now? We were to meet after I completed my solo." In spite of herself, she strokes his arm. "I really must go – this is not a good time."

"Just a moment – there is time…please."

"All right." They reach her dressing room and go in.

Smaller than Christine's, the space is nevertheless set up for two dancers to share. Identical vanities, benches and armoires. A wall mirror and a single chaise. Since becoming a soloist, the room as been assigned to her alone. This situation both pleases and distresses her – she always liked the camaraderie of the larger area that the ballet girls shared. Nicole's common sense and good humor was welcome when she was feeling worried or anxious – Monique feels her absence now.

"I must complete my make-up – I do not wish to insult you, but…"

"Please – do what you need to do. I should have thought," he says. "I must really learn to think."

Sitting in front of the mirror, she repairs her make-up – touching up the rouge on her lips and brushing her hair. Considering her wig, she decides against it and puts her tiara on her cropped waves. "What happened today?"

" _Please have a seat," Phillippe said to Inspector Marquand, offering him one of the leather armchairs framing the fireplace. "Raoul, why not sit here?" Indicating the couch._

 _Moving to his desk, he opens his humidor and removes a cigar, holding it up for Marquand to see. "Cigar?"_

 _The Inspector's eyes brightened. "Thank you."_

 _Phillippe prepared a cigar for the Inspector and himself – lighting his, then giving the lighter over for the policeman to do the same._

" _Raoul?"_

" _No, not right now." He pressed his fingers against his eyes. "Could you ring for some brandy?"_

" _I am not sure brandy is advisable right now, my brother," Phillippe responded – taking a seat in the other leather chair. "When being interviewed by the police, it is generally best to be sober – is that not correct, Inspector?"_

 _Marquand laughed. "True enough." Laying his cigar in a crystal ashtray on the mahogany end table next to his chair, he pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil. "Shall we begin?"_

 _Raoul recited essentially what he told Phillippe and the others earlier._

" _So you were not seeing Mlle. Arnault these past months?"_

" _That is correct."_

 _Phillippe cleared his throat. "Tell the truth, Raoul, you are not preserving your reputation, such as it is, for Monique or the Saint-Riens._

" _That_ is _the truth."_

" _No, it is not," Phillippe growled, pounding his fist on arm of the chair. "Do you think I am going to hand over a small fortune and not know where and how it is being spent?"_

" _You hired the monster to follow me?"_

" _No – I would not shame either of us in that way," Phillippe says. "But I did have someone else advising me of the goings on."_

" _The monster?" Marquand asked._

" _M. Saint-Rien and my brother were both courting Mme. Saint-Rien at the same time – at the same time Raoul was still seeing Mlle. Arnault, I might add," Phillippe harrumphs. "M. Saint-Rien has a deformed face..."_

" _That is not all the makes him a monster," Raoul insisted._

" _Enough. That man saved your life – do not forget that. This is about you – do not try to change the subject. We are trying to find your son and the person who murdered his mother."_

 _Raoul crossed his arms, slumping into the couch. "Marie-Corrinne advised me that she was with child. We had been seeing each other for four months or so. I noticed that she was losing her figure. When I commented on it, she laughed and said – oh, yes, that is your child growing."_

" _Why in God's name did you get caught up with her? Everything I have heard you say about her has her coarse and cruel."_

" _If I may, M. le Comte," Marquand interrupted. "Raoul is a young man – many of these ladies prey on good men like him. You must know that. When these murders came to our attention, the suspicion was that the women had promised their babies for adoption and changed their minds."_

" _That is exactly what happened," Raoul exclaimed. "Her personality changed – she was frightened – I never gave her any reason to be afraid. I told her I would take care of both her and the child. She did not want that. She said she found someone to take the baby through her doctor. That they would take care of her."_

" _So it was through the doctor? Dr. Gerard did not know and we have been unable to locate Dr. Perdue."_

" _Do you know how she learned about him?"_

 _Raoul shook his head. "She did not share her life with me. There was nothing between us besides our…physical relationship."_

" _Even after she was with child."_

" _Yes." Raoul's back grew rigid._

" _You and Mlle. Daae – at the time?"_

" _No. Nothing physical – with Mlle. DuBois either."_

" _I see."_

" _I am not sure you do, but think what you like."_

" _Did Mlle. Arnault have a maid?"_

" _Yes," Phillippe said. "One of our housemaids here tended to her needs three times a week – she was an extra for when our sisters visit – thus, was not needed on a daily basis for the household. It worked out well for Mlle. Arnault's cleaning and shopping and other basic needs. She had funds of her own if she wished for anything beyond that."_

" _May I speak with this servant?"_

" _Unfortunately, she did not come to work today."_

" _She does not live below stairs?"_

" _She does, but yesterday was her free day – she did not return last night."_

" _Ah. That is not good."_

" _No." Phillippe shook his head._

 _Raoul sits up. "So you had a maid spying on me?"_

" _It was efficient."_

" _And now she is missing," Raoul says. "I would venture to guess that she will not likely return."_

" _It is not as if you noticed," Phillippe sneered, stubbing out his cigar. "You did not even recognize her."_

" _But you made me vulnerable, not to mention our household," Raoul counters. "Which is worse?"_

" _I suspect you are correct, M. le Vicomte – on all counts." Rising from his chair, he asks, "May I speak to your head housekeeper and the other servants?"_

" _Of course," Phillippe said, rising himself. "I shall have Francois arrange for interviews – we can use the kitchen nook – it will provide easy access to the staff and privacy as well." Addressing Raoul, he said, "The maid was Francoise's daughter. He is our most trusted servant and has been with the family for years. I have no reason to believe that she was disloyal."_

" _Are you finished with me?" Raoul asked._

" _For now. I do not suspect you are planning to leave the country…" Marquand chuckled._

 _Raoul bristled._

" _It is a bad joke, M. le Vicomte, I apologize. At the moment, though, I believe finding the maid is our priority. Judging from what le Comte has just revealed, she is likely at risk. Thank you both for your time."_

"At least there seems to be some sort of progress," Monique says. Gathering her toes shoes from the armoire, she wraps her toes before putting on the shoes and tying the ribbons. Satisfied with the fit, she duck walks to Raoul and kisses him on the forehead. "Are you going to watch from the audience, or do you prefer to wait for me here?"

"I reserved a box – Phillippe will be joining me."

"I am happy that you have returned to good terms with him."

"We are rather stuck with one another – I just wish I could stop disappointing him."

Monique sighs. "I must go – if I do not warm up, I shall not be able to dance very well."

"Of course." Jumping up, he takes her arm again, gently this time and walks her to the door. "May I watch you?"

"I would rather you not – all of us prefer to have a moment of time when no one is observing us."

"Right – I shall learn. I promise."

When he leans in for a kiss – she pulls back. "Make-up."

"Right. Again."

"I shall give you a proper kiss when the Opera is over," she says, smiling. "Now go to your box."

The door presses against her back, startling her again. "What?"

"Christine? Are you all right?" Erik says through the crack of the barely opened door.

"Oh, yes, I am fine." She moves to the side, allowing him entry. Throwing her arms around him, she says, "Just feeling your body against mine calms me. I am so happy to have you. "

"And I, you." Erik kisses her forehead. Holding her at arm's length, he examines her face. "Why are you so upset?"

"Monique just left – we had a long conversation…"

"About Raoul?"

"Yes – and the past," she says, emitting a long deep breath. "It was uncomfortable – I told her she needed to talk to Raoul, not me." Pushing his arms down, she embraces him again. "That is not what is troubling me – not entirely."

"You are shaking." He leads her to the settee, gathering her close as they both sit down.

"As she was leaving, Raoul appeared – she was not expecting him and seemed put out by his presence."

"Stalking her?" he chuckles. "Andre and I saw him prowling the hallways."

"That is not funny." She slaps his hand. "There is something not right with him," she says.

"We have always known that."

"Was he really looking for her?"

"Yes, Andre said he was backstage and she was hiding from him. I think she came in here to avoid seeing him."

Christine harrumphs. "What happened to the boy I loved in my youth?

"He grew up," Erik says. "Nary a care in the world, everything handed to him – he does not like being thwarted. One morning he woke up and he was no longer a cute little tyke and was expected to do something with his life. Unfortunately, he has not a clue as to what that might be, so he attaches himself to women he believes to be weak – who need him, but are actually very, very strong."

"But the child?"

"However it came about, the child would be better off with the couple who wants to adopt him."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I doubt Monique is thrilled with the idea of being a mother – at least not right now and, certainly not in this way. Nor should she expected to be."

"Phillippe has sense. I actually quite like him, in spite of his initial behavior toward me," she says. "What can we do?"

"Nothing."

"But…"

Pressing a finger to her pout, he repeats, "Nothing."


	8. Saturday

SATURDAY

The light from the sitting room provides the only illumination to the bedroom, casting a golden glow on Christine's face as she opens her eyes, sensing Erik sitting down next to her.

"Do you feel up to performing tonight?" he asks, smoothing her curls, damp from sleep, pressing a kiss on her forehead. "You slept warm and seldom sleep this late – I am concerned that the stress of this past week may be burdening you."

A wide yawn becomes a smile and her arms, at first stretching wide, fall to his shoulders, pulling him close. Nibbling on his ear, she says, "I am fine except for my great need of some special loving this morning."

Taken aback, he says, "As I recall, my good wife, we indulged in some quite vigorous special loving last night after the performance – have I become forgettable so soon?" His chuckle forced, brow furrowed.

"Thus, my sleeping warm, as you call it," she sniggers. "That was last night – this is today." Reaching up, she grabs the front of his shirt, bringing him close again, undoing the buttons.

"Before breakfast?"

"An appetizer?" She suggests, waggling her eyebrows.

"I see – and what might you have a taste for?" Completing the task of unbuttoning his shirt, he shucks it.

"Hmmm – what might _you_ have a taste for?" Pushing away the covers, her pale pink silk nightgown revealed. While veiling her breasts, it is ruched around her waist, exposing her smooth belly and the reddish-brown curls of her mons. Bending her knees, legs spread, she fingers herself, asking, "Would this be to your liking? I am happy to be sous-chef to my chef de cuisine."

"And a fine sous-chef you are, my dear," he responds, removing his trousers and drawers – eyes lost in her self-pleasuring. Removing the blankets entirely, he kneels in front of her, palming his length, displaying himself to her. "Would this instrument be suitable for sating you, or would you prefer I sample your efforts?

"Mmmmm. Both are wonderful, but I always desire your expert's touch to achieve the most satisfying results."

"As Madame wishes." Grabbing her hips, he pulls her toward him.

She lifts her legs over his shoulders. "Oh, your arm…"

"My arm is fine," he says, bending to partake of his favorite aperitif.

"Ah. Yes, your expert touch makes all the difference. Bon appetit, my husband."

* * *

Raoul leads the Inspector up the stairs to the 2nd floor apartment that had been the residence of Marie-Corrinne in the past months. Removing a key from his waistcoat pocket, he opens the door to the modest, but spacious flat, with two tall windows draped in heavy, gold-tasseled, green velvet overlooking the Rue St. Honore.

The furnishings are vastly different from the plain flat where he first engaged with her. Two settees, both upholstered in rich brocades – one green, the other blue – face one another across a carved pecan coffee table.

The porcelain lamps that once sat on the end tables are on the Chinese rug, next to other what-nots personalizing the room – a book of poems, a silver-framed photograph of a bride and groom. Lying next to them is a woolen cloak, beaded reticule and a single brown boot.

"Did you test the door before inserting the key?" Inspector Marquand asks, undoing his wrinkled macintosh to pull out a wrapper of paper and a pencil.

"No, I just inserted it and the door opened as usual."

"Not more easily?"

"To be honest, I do not recall – I was not thinking about it."

Marquand returns to the door, opening it to examine the lock. There are scratches on the metal plate, but the bolt is not disabled. "Someone knew what he was doing." He returns to the center of the room and surveys the situation, making quick notes in his book. "What is this?" He picks up a small white cloth partially hidden by the blue settee. A brief whiff, wrinkles his nose. "Chloroform. I wonder…"

"Wonder, Inspector?" Raoul asks.

"Nothing – at least not now," he answers. "The rest of the flat?"

The kitchen sits at the back of the apartment to the right, off a small hallway leading to two other doors on the left – both closed.

"The bedrooms – there are two," Raoul explains as he walks toward them. "The first is the one Marie-Corrinne used as her boudoir – the other is empty except for some storage items."

Marquand holds up his hand to stop him. "Let me." To the officers standing just inside the front door, he says, "Piaget, examine the kitchen. I doubt you will find anything, but check. Fremed, visit the neighbors on this floor – ask them if there were aware of any disturbances on Wednesday."

Marquand moves stealthily down the hallway. Stopping in front of the first door, he turns the knob slowly, then kicks it open.

"A soft whimper is heard coming from the armoire."

Rushing into the room, he pulls open the doors to find a petite young woman, her legs tucked under her dress, mob cap pulled down around her ears. Folded hands are pressed against her mouth, tracks of dried tears on dirty cheeks.

"Meybel?" Raoul asks. "Are you Meybel?"

"Meybel?" The Inspector asks.

"Our maid – Francoise's daughter – the one who has been missing," Raoul explains. "Come, you are safe." He offers his hand to help her out of the mahogany cabinet.

"Oh, Monsieur le Vicomte, thank you – thank you. I have been so frightened." She falls from the cupboard into Raoul's arms, clutching him as he pulls her to her feet.

"A mystery solved, without a dead body, praise God," Marquand snorts. "How long have you been hiding?" He wave his hand at Raoul indicating she be guided to the sitting room. "Piaget" he calls out, "some water and brandy if you can find any."

"It is in the cupboard above the sink, Monsieur," Meybel says.

"In the cupboard above the sink," Marquand shouts.

Raoul gets her settled, draping the patchwork quilt lying next to the sofa over her shoulders. The officer hands her the glass of water, golden with a touch of brandy. Accepting the drink and, after rubbing her nose with the sleeve of her grey cotton dress, she takes a sip, then a longer swallow. "Thank you," she says, handing the empty glass back to Raoul.

Marquand quirks an eyebrow at the transaction.

"I first hid when they took Mademoiselle. She just returned from being out with Mme. Laurence."

"Mme. Laurence?" Marquand asks.

"The lady that was helping her to find a home for the baby. She started coming a few weeks ago. They would talk about how Mlle. Arnault would go to a home for a short confinement until the baby's birth so she would not be here alone. Mme. Laurence would keep the baby." She hiccoughs. "I was always told to go away when she was here, but I heard some things."

"She was here on Wednesday?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

* * *

" _You will not change your mind, Marie-Corrinne?" Mme. Laurence asked. Her lantern jaw set, forcing her thin lips into a grimace. Hands folded in front of her, she looked the angry school marm prepared to dispel severe punishment on those who would thwart her._

" _No, why should I – the Vicomte has offered more than you are willing to pay and will now take the child as well. That was my only issue with him in the first place, as I told you – I did not want to be raising a child, however noble."_

" _But you made an agreement with us. The people are expecting this child."_

" _I cannot help that, truly, find them another – I am certain there are many young women who would accept your…kindness," Marie-Corrinne replied. "You were good to help me find someone, and I thank you – but other than that, I am not sure what I owe you. The child's father wants it – does not that mean anything to you?"_

 _Mme. Laurence bowed her head and sighed, "It does. Yes, it certainly does." Turning to the door, she opened it, looking back once more at the young woman, heavy with child, and said, "Good-bye."_

 _Marie-Corrinne dropped her cloak and reticule on the coffee table and said, "That is all? Good-bye? No more arguments?" She grabbed onto the back of the settee to help her sit down._

" _No more arguments," Mme. Laurence said, leaving and closing the door behind her._

" _Well thank goodness for that. What a tiresome woman."_

 _Meybel stuck her head out from the kitchen. "Mademoiselle, are you all right? I did not wish to interrupt your conversation. May I get you something to drink or to eat?"_

" _Oh, Meybel, you are here?" she said. "No, I am fine – perhaps bring me the quilt, I am feeling a bit chill – then turn the bed, if you would. I just wish to rest here for a moment – the visits to the doctor are always so exhausting."_

" _Very well."_

* * *

"So all was well at that time?"

"Yes, I brought her the quilt and put it over her shoulders and returned to my chores."

"What then?"

* * *

" _Who are you?" Marie-Corrinne exclaimed. "What do you want?"_

* * *

"Are croissants and cheese fine with everyone – or should I prepare some omelets?" Adele calls from the kitchen to the dining room. She dons her red dressing gown and slippers, her plaited black hair hangs down her back.

Meg, Monique, Giselle and Veronique sit around the dining room table in various states of morning dress and levels of disarray.

Meg, in her ever-present pink – today a frilly cotton batiste wrapper – hair tied back with a complementary ribbon, jumps up. "Let me help you, Maman. I believe we are all fine with a simple meal. I shall prepare the tea."

"Monique, I so wish I had your wonderful hair – or Meg's mop of curls," says Giselle, sitting next to Veronique on the window seat as pulls at one of the two pony tails of auburn hair hanging over each shoulder. Her work clothes – brown flannel shirt and tan knickers with long brown stockings and solid boots, are worn but clean. A small hand, roughened with her labor, rubs heavy-lidded eyes.

Monique laughs, retying the ribbon at the neckline of her periwinkle dressing gown. "I find it ironic that when my hair was long and lush, everyone loved it. Now that it is cropped close to my head, everyone still loves it." She tousles it with her fingers, bringing life back to the red-gold curls that were matted down during sleep. "I forgot how challenging it can be performing during the evening. It is one thing to practice every day, but then…well, it was exhilarating, but I feel every muscle."

"You were magnificent, Monique," Veronique says. "Andre could hardly keep still when you were dancing, I almost had to hold him in my lap – I fear he will add dancing to his repertoire of talents. He told me that the ballet girls were giving him lessons." Of all the women, she is the only one fully dressed and made-up for the day in the Wedgewood blue dress Christine gave her – not a hair out of place with a bit of rouge coloring her lips and cheeks. "We were able to observe the audience throughout the opera which added to our pride and pleasure. You were all wonderful. Madame Christine does sing like an angel. You and Meg are, by far the best ballerinas."

"Thank you, Veronique, for saying so. It was so much fun having a real audience to dance for – not just the mirror," Meg says as she carries the teapot with yet another set of Adele's china collection being used for their meal. Today it is white porcelain with hand-painted, pink roses. "I miss Christine – I wonder if she is enjoying her breakfast without our gossip as entertainment."

"How do you do it?" Giselle asks Veronique. "We all work – but with the child to care for. You have made me into a tidy person – which is something my mother could never drum into me. My father always said I should have been a boy."

"This is a busy day – I must balance the receipts from the past two nights, but most importantly, I am putting the final touches to my portfolio of costume and set designs for the new review." Veronique beams. "M. Erik wishes to see them on Monday. I feel as if I shall burst with joy," she gushes, covering her mouth with her hand at her outburst.

"Set designs?" Giselle asks.

"Yes, your drawings are included – with full credit."

"That is wonderful, Veronique, your drawings are brilliant," Meg says. "Giselle, you draw?"

"I scribble and put some ideas for scenery on paper. Are you sure they are worthy?"

"More than worthy."

"I cannot wait to see them – did you design something for me in pink?"

"There is incredible artistry in what you do. I see no reason why a woman cannot be a woman, and still enjoy carpentry and find a way to make that craft into art," Monique says. "My father wanted me to be a lady, whatever that means. I wanted to dance. My mother was a mouse until Father tried to stop me from dancing – then her Scottish nature revealed itself."

"It is nothing – well, it is something – I just do not want to get carried away."

"My father was happy that I loved the dance," Adele chimes in, carrying the platter with their breakfast, placing it on the table. "Partly because I could earn a living by dancing. We had no money for a dowry. It was my good fortune to fall in love with a musician, somehow making a life and, after many tries, a beautiful daughter."

"Thank you, Maman," Meg says – giving her mother a hug before pulling an extra chair from the sitting room so they can all sit down.

"Speaking of falling in love," Monique says. "It would appear that you have a new beau, Giselle. The crimson gown you wore after the performance last night suited you perfectly – especially with the feathers in your chignon. You looked like a duchess." She chooses her croissant, breaks it apart, adding a piece of cheese to make a sandwich.

Giselle's cheeks flush with pleasure.

"Is that why your eyes are tired, yet bright as jewels?" Meg teases. "Is it possible that we might have a comtesse and vicomtesse in our humble midst?"

"Comte Phillippe is very kind. We had a lovely supper and found much to say to one another," Giselle says, taking a bite of plain croissant before sipping her tea.

* * *

 _The vibrancy of the cabaret bled into the street – jocular couples, loud music and a heightened gaiety that found Giselle both charmed and appalled. Beautiful, if vaguely wanton women, hung on the arms of men many years their senior, who kissed their faces or fondled them outright sans embarrassment._

 _She was no stranger to the behavior of men and women in mating mode – at most every inn she ever stayed saw the exchanges of lust for money. This, however, was on a much grander scale and cushioned in wealth, making the debauchery less offensive in a strange way._

 _The maître d greeted Phillippe with a jovial "Bonjour, M. le Comte de Chagny – your usual booth?" His tailcoat unable to meet in front thanks to his portly frame._

 _Giselle was conscious of his surveillance of her – side-eying Phillippe and twisting the waxed ends of his handlebar mustache. "Supper or just appetizers?"_

 _Phillippe turned to Giselle. "Are you quite hungry – they offer a delightful sole?"_

 _She nodded numbly. "That sounds lovely."_

" _Bien. The usual wine?"_

" _No – I think tonight a nice champagne – a treat for the mademoiselle."_

" _I shall bring you our very best." Making a slight bow, he disappeared into the throng, allowing Phillippe to seat Giselle himself._

 _The sommelier brought a bottle of champagne in a silver bucket he set on the table. Removing the wine wrapped in a white towel, he popped the cork, startling Giselle. "Oh."_

 _Phillippe held up his tulip glass accepting half a glass to taste, once finished, he nodded. His glass was refilled and another tulip glass prepared for Giselle. "Thank you," he said to the man. To Giselle, "Please enjoy your wine –it is quite nice."_

 _Taking a sip, she giggled. "Champagne two nights in a row – I feel spoiled. I do like the bubbles tickling my nose, though. They are quite fun."_

" _So you are a country girl?" Phillippe asked, leaning across the table to speak with her. Their booth, though set away from the loudest part of the cabaret, is still surrounded by the music and chatter from the people crowding the darkened room._

" _Yes – as I told you, my father was a carpenter and he taught me his craft. We were a family of women and he was pleased that I enjoyed working with my hands. I danced – that was my mother's wish – she loved the ballet. I was grateful to be able to find continued work after my accident at the Opera House."_

" _I should have liked to see you dance," he said, lifting up his glass in a toast. "To lady carpenters."_

 _Giselle lowered her eyes. "Thank you."_

" _Are there any other wonderful secrets you might like to share?"_

" _Well…Papa taught me fisticuffs."_

 _He sat back against the leather padding of the booth. "Indeed? And have you engaged in any conflicts – either for sport or out of need."_

 _His manner was so relaxed and friendly – it was difficult to believe that he was of noble birth – but then she could not imagine him to be a commoner. His finely chiseled face, the Grecian nose and cleft chin all spoke of a privileged heritage. In some ways, he reminded her of M. Erik – their body structure, the way they moved, a quiet elegance – catlike – Comte Phillippe in his grey and M. Erik in his black._

" _Some of the farm boys would tease me when I would practice dancing in the workshop. One of them got a bit too close – trying to touch me. I punched him in the jaw. When he fell to the ground, all his friends scattered leaving him at my mercy. It was tres jolie."_

 _Phillippe threw back his head and laughed loudly enough to draw the attention of a couple dancing close to their table. "Did you trounce him further?"_

" _No, I trusted he learned his lesson – why waste my energy – the point was made?"_

" _You are fascinating, Giselle, do you know that?"_

" _I know that I am different. I am not certain that I am fascinating."_

" _Oh, you are. Trust me when I say you are." His grey eyes half-closed, the barest smile on his thin lips._

" _You remind me of M. Erik in many ways."_

" _Indeed? I do not sing, nor am I a musician or detective – and certainly not a phantom. I am nothing so romantic."_

" _He appreciates oddities – and speaks his mind."_

" _You admire him."_

" _I do –he and Mme. Christine have been good to me." She cleared her throat. "You look like him – at least your height and the way you handle yourself. I often wonder what he looks like under the mask."_

" _Raoul says his face is quite horrible. That said, a gorgeous young woman loves him and, more significantly, chose him over my beautiful brother, so it cannot be so terrible, non?" He took another sip of his wine. "I like that you have been thinking about me."_

 _The waiter arrived with their meal and Giselle was grateful for the interruption. The sole was cooked to perfection, at least as far as she knew, grilled frisee with squash and figs as a side dish and a fresh, hard-crusted bread with garlic olive oil for dipping took much of their attention – their eyes, however, danced as they ate their meal._

* * *

"So it was just talk and supper?" Adele snickers.

"Yes."

"She was actually home quite early," Veronique says. "He did not even try to kiss her goodnight – well, he did kiss her hand and held it a bit longer than is usual."

"Veronique!"

"Andre and I could not resist peeking – I am sorry. We were so excited for you."

"What do you suppose Sorelli thinks about all of this?" Monique asks. "Raoul told me that they were, er…"

"I do not know. I did not ask," Giselle retorts, her face reddening. "We had supper – that was all."

"Oh, my dear girl, trust me, that is not all," Adele tells her as she freshens her tea. "You are being courted or whatever the nobility calls it."

"I do not wish to be some, some…"

"No one said you do," Adele assures her. "The Comte behaves as though he is smitten – which only shows his excellent taste. He has been…taking care of Sorelli for a number of years now. There is no shame in that – they are both adults. His obvious interest in you is something I doubt anyone would have imagined."

"I shall find out what the story is with Sorelli," Meg says.

"No, Meg," Giselle pleads.

"I am not going to ask _her_ ," Meg pouts. "Give me some credit – why does everyone think I just do things without thinking?"

Four pair of eyes look askance at her.

"Because you do," her mother snorts. "Still, it would be fun to know," she continues after a beat, her smile wicked. "I do not suppose it would be too adverse to intercept the gossip – especially since he did take you to dinner."

"I shall find out what Raoul knows," Monique laughs, then sobers, her eyes darkening. "Perhaps not."

* * *

"I heard scuffling, but not much more, until the door closed. When I went into the sitting room, the lamps were knocked over, the quilt was on the floor and Mademoiselle was gone."

"Why did you stay?" Raoul asks, sitting down, putting an arm around her.

"I was afraid." Her brown eyes wet with tears find his. "Every noise I heard in the hallway made it worse."

"But after a while, you could have left and spoke to a policeman or gone home," Raoul said.

Marquand holds his hand up and shakes a finger at the Vicomte. "What happened next – I assume something else occurred?"

"About an hour later, I heard someone at the door, so I hid in the armoire."

"What then?"

"They came directly into the bedroom. I could hear them opening the drawers of Mademoiselle's dresser."

* * *

" _It is not here – why did you not get the document when you had her to tell you where it was?"_

" _You said to take her and not make any noise – that is what we did. There was no mention of any documents."_

" _Damn, It is getting dark, there is not enough light to search now. We must find those papers."_

" _What do you propose?"_

" _Stay outside – it is not safe for you in here in the event the Vicomte comes calling. Did you see the maid when you arrived earlier?"_

" _No, there was no one here."_

" _Did you check?"_

" _Of course we checked, we are not amateurs."_

" _Was she here when_ you _came earlier?"_

" _Do not be smart with me."_

* * *

"After that, they left. I had to stay."

"The next day?"

They returned – just the men this time – I hid in the linen bin," she says, pointing to an over-sized basket in the bathroom. "I pulled the dirty clothing over my head."

"Good thinking," Raoul says, encouraging her.

"I heard the drawers opening and closing again."

* * *

" _Here is something."_

" _What is it?"_

" _A box of papers – they look like official – what old lady Laurence was talking about."_

" _Good. Be glad to get this behind us. Too much sloppiness for my liking. Perdue has some romantic idea about the church and virgins. He is putting all of us at risk. This baby belongs to a noble, for god sakes."_

* * *

"So you just stayed here. Even after they left again."

"They came back once, Monsieur – why not again?"

"And did they?"

"Yes, Mme. Laurence was with them. This time they looked in the armoire."

* * *

" _It is as we told you. There is nothing –we have found nothing – just what we gave you."_

" _That was her birth certificate and other family documents – worthless – not even the papers for this flat."_

" _Then she hid them somewhere else – maybe at a bank."_

" _I told German that this one was a mistake."_

* * *

"So you felt safe to hide in the armoire when they left?"

"Yes. I had to take care of my personal needs – I was hungry and the basket was so small. I was afraid to leave the flat. They were not finding what they wanted – I did not want to take the chance of them seeing me." Her hazel eyes huge. "I am not very smart, but they would know I heard them and…"

"It is all right, Meybel," Raoul says. "We are happy that you are all right. Your father will be so happy to see you."

"I will be happy to see him." With that she breaks down and sobs.

"Can you remember anything else?" Marquand asks.

Calming herself, she nods. "I know what they were looking for. At least I think so."

"You do?"

"Yes, Monsieur. She, Mlle. Arnault, buried some papers in the flour bin. I found them when I was baking bread."

"They are still there?"

"Yes, sir, I was going to bake on Wednesday – the box with the papers was still in the bin," she assures them. Touching Raoul on the sleeve, she asks. "Where is Mademoiselle?"

Raoul looks up to Marquand for guidance.

* * *

The mood shifts, the playful tone disappears.

"Is he with the Inspector?" Adele asks.

"At some point today, yes. I am not sure when. They are going to the girl's flat."

"Are you all right? This must be a shock to you – yet another sorrow," Giselle says, reaching her hand across the table to Monique.

Meg pulls her chair closer and puts an arm around her shoulders.

Monique shakes her head, holding back her tears. "I love him, but I do not know what to think about all of this – Christine, now this Marie-Corrinne. Then there is the child – his child. He must be going mad with worry and I do not know how to help. It is all too much."

"It was before you, Monique. If Christine could tell you anything it would be that men change," Meg says.

"She told me to talk to Raoul – that this was between us."

"That is good advice," Veronique says. "My late husband was a bit of a rake when I met him. We courted for a while because I was concerned about his interest in other women. We lived close to one another, so I saw him flirting. After a time, I realized that he could only see me – his eyes never roamed again. He started a business and I joined him – we shared a love of art and found a way to profit from it."

"I did not know about your husband, Veronique. Thank you for telling me – this means a lot."

"I miss him so." Veronique says, dabbing her eyes with a napkin. "I love my Andre, he fills my life, but this is nice – having friends."

"As for Raoul's baby," Adele says. "Let us wait until we know more. For the moment, all any of us can do is pray and hope for its safe return."

* * *

Christine licks the strawberry jam from her fingers before wiping her hands and tossing the napkin on the table. Falling back in her chair, she pats her tummy. "This baby has a big appetite."

"Are you sure it is not the _mother_ of the baby who likes to partake in feasts of all manner?" Erik asks, clearing the table and taking the dishes to the sink.

"I really do need to be careful, I know. Dr. Gerard warned me about taking on too much weight," she says, standing up to join him at the sink – drying the dishes as he puts them in the drainer. "Everything just tastes so good."

"Would you care to take a short walk?"

"You wish to take a walk in daylight?"

"I am getting used to it – in a way – I suppose," he replies, stacking the dried dishes in a cupboard. "Dr. Gerard suggested we both get more light and air. Said my pallor was awful – his word," he chuckles. "Since he had just seen my face and remained conscious, I am wont to trust his word that perhaps sunlight might be beneficial."

"Did you not go out as a child?"

"Not when I was living with my mother – she would not allow it," he says. "When I was with the gypsies and travelling with my violin, and later in Persia, I did spend quite a bit of time outside. Later, I found it easier – more comfortable to only travel in the world at night." Folding the towel he wrapped around his waist as an apron, he places it on the counter then holds out his hand to her.

Removing her cashmere cloak from the rack by the door, he drapes it over her shoulders. "Bonnet?"

"No, I think I shall just use the hood," she says, pulling it over her head, pinning it in place.

Putting on his own black cape and plain gambler hat, he guides her out the door to the tunnels to the Rue Scribe entrance.

"Did you enjoy the performance last night?" she asks, watching him secure the gate. "I saw all of you in the box and it gave me such joy. No more hiding in the pillar for you."

Extending his left arm for her to take, he surveys the sidewalk before deciding to take a route away from the Palais. "It was an experience. Andre could hardly contain himself – he was almost a much entertainment as the opera when you were not singing."

"He was dressed in one of the suits you gave him – from your mother's chest?"

"Yes. It looked well on him, I think."

"There were so many clothes."

"Yes…enough for him to wear for many years to come." He looks down at her, but her eyes are engaged in the comings and goings of the Saturday afternoon traffic – pedestrian and equine.

"Did you not think it odd – that there were clothes you had not worn – would never wear?" Her musings continue.

"No…yes…but not with any focus. When I was packing up the house, Marie, Mother's friend, told me that she always bought a new wardrobe for me each year, hoping for my return."

"Erik!" Christine stops short, pulling on his arm, turning him to face her.

"That she regretted how she behaved. It struck her when her doctor friend suggested I be put in an asylum how much she truly loved me," he says, his tone flat. "I believe I recalled all of this to you."

"You did, but it just struck me you had already left, but she kept buying clothes for you."

"Until I saw the clothing again, I never gave it much thought – and so much time had passed. I saw in Andre the boy I could have been – a child she might have cared for. I am happy, if that is the correct word, that a young boy is experiencing that expression of her love, however, distorted."

"You are the best pappa." She stands on tip-toe to kiss him on the cheek.

Pushing her away, he says, "What, stop – we are on the street, people will watch."

"We are in Paris, Erik." Christine laughs, cuddling close to him again.

"In any event, I am not a pappa – yet."

They continue their promenade along the boulevard.

"You are as much a pappa as Andre will ever have – and he loves you in that way."

"He is a good boy."

"And…"

"And I love him, too."


	9. Searchers

SEARCHERS

"No."

"But the party would be for your birthday," Christine insists. Wearing her favorite blue chambray dress, even more comfortable since her abandonment of corsetry, she sorts through the stacks of books Erik has placed on the hand-carved rosewood game/chess table sitting between the pair of pale green armchairs purchased with the apartment.,

"I do not celebrate the day of my birth," Erik responds, continuing to unpack the boxes of books stacked in front of the floor to ceiling bookcases that line one wall of their new sitting room. Having abandoned his jacket and waistcoat, he attacks the job in rolled up shirtsleeves, revealing his sinewy scarred forearms.

Situated at the front of the apartment, the room will also function as the parlor – complete with a view of the Tuileries through twin windows framing the fireplace. Draped with a pale green embossed velvet with golden tassels, colors chosen to coordinate with the cream and gold brocade settee and art case baby grand piano Erik encouraged the prior owners to sell.

Picking out a few of the books, including a large black tome, she carries them to the sofa switching on one of the matching porcelain lamps, embellished with hand-painted gardenias, that sit on the carved end tables. Three Aubusson rugs in varied designs using sage, peach and tan cover the wooden floor. The entire look designed to be light and airy. "That is because for years you did not know when it was your birthday, and, as I am sad to remind you – no one was there to celebrate with you," Christine argues.

"My dear, I know the date – it is seared in my memory. However, if I somehow forget, it is inscribed in that Bible you hold on your lap – just after the date of my father's death." Stretching his back, he turns to her, taking a deep breath, and says through compressed lips, "As such, it simply does not have fond memories for me. Your birthday is two weeks later, let us celebrate that – a birth that no one grieved over." With that, he empties the box, breaks it down and carries it to the door, adding it to the stack already being accumulated there for disposal.

"That is exactly the reason why this must be a joyous occasion – to put all of that behind you."

"It would be behind me if you did not insist on bringing it up."

"What are these?" she asks, pulling several sheets of paper from the heavy, leather bound book.

Erik walks over to plop down next to her, stretching his long legs in front of him. "Packing, unpacking – I am happy that we are keeping the home under the Opera House for performance days. I remember moving my mother's furniture down there. Cannot imagine bringing all of it here. The books are bad enough."

"Besides which, everything would clash."

He grunts in response. "Let me see," he says, taking the small sheaf from her. "The first is hand-written documentation of your birth with a note I could not read. Your father had prepared an entire packet that was more official, this was folded up and seemed more personal, so I tucked it away." He hands the paper back to her. "I am sorry, I should have given it to you sooner."

"No matter." First chuckling, then finding a flood of tears flowing down her cheeks, she reads:

 _20 May 1862, 13:20, Simrishamn, Sweden._

 _My dotter,_

 _I labored from very early morning until midday with you. I do not recall whether I was more upset over the missing of my sleep or the inability to have my dinner. After you were placed in my arms to nurse, I saw your beautiful face. When your pappa fed me biscuits and honey, all that silliness was forgotten. May you not be cursed with my love of sweets._

 _Your Mamma._

"I did not know this existed. Pappa just put everything he could think of into a folder for us to take when we left the farm. When you asked for my papers, I did not even bother to look to see what was there." Caressing the papers, she turns to Erik, "This is such a precious gift. I have so little of her."

Wrapping his arm around her, pulling her close, he kisses her on the forehead. "She did not get her wish about the sweets."

"No, I suppose not," she chortles. Mamma was always happy – even at the end, she would make jokes, trying to keep me and Pappa from being sad." Dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, she points at the next pages she laid side by side on the table. "What are these – they look like drawings."

Two pieces of paper, each with a circle being dissected by a number of lines and various symbols. Erik's name is written across the top of one with his birth date, place and time: 8 May 1831, 02:00, Rouen, France. The other with her name and birth information from her mother's note.

"These are our astrological charts."

"Really? How exciting." She claps her hands. "When Pappa and I were travelling we often met with astrologers, card and palm readers – all manner of fortune tellers. When did you learn this?"

"During my travels – primarily India. Ironic – I learned astrology and how to use the Punjab lasso at about the same time. Astrology has been present since ancient times - Babylonia – the mapping of the sun, the moon and the planets. A new planet, Uranus, was discovered just 100 years ago – so modern tools tell us more and more about the heavens. The moon controls the tides, so why not people? Planets have gravity."

"Do you understand what all these squiggles mean?"

"Yes – they are ancient symbols for the planets and the signs of the Zodiac. It is a language like any other – I can teach you if you would like. You are always so interested in knowing about other people and this is a tool you could use. You might even find it fun," he chuckles.

"Can you put one chart next to another and discover things about the people together?"

"Yes, that is why I constructed these."

"And do our charts look well?" She teases.

"I would say they do – in many instances."

"But not all?"

"There will always be challenges. Look at the man with whom you are dealing…" he says, waving his arm from head to foot with a flourish at the end. "You might ask particular questions and I could point where the answers lie within the charts."

"Show me, please." She pulls on his arm, bouncing in her seat.

"Not now, my darling. There is still much to do." He rises from the settee, pressing a hand against his back.

"All right," she groans. "Wait, one more thing – this Bible – is your entire family listed here?"

"Primarily my mother's family – although that would be my father's as well, would it not?" he sniggers. "I suspect some of his ancestry, as he knew it, was likely catalogued. Why?"

"Well, suppose we could find other family members for you to become acquainted with – that our baby would know."

Erik shakes his head. "We have a family. There is no need to stir up old memories. Most of these people are likely dead now. I remember no familial visits during my time with my mother."

"But the family names – those can be traced…" She insists – running her finger down the first page, then the second. "Oh, my." A gasp first escapes her lips, then a chuckle. "Erik, you must see this. Look at the date _before_ your father's death – the date of his birth."

"What?" Erik sighs, then returns to his seat, taking the book, focusing on the name that drew her attention. "No. This is too preposterous."

"Well, it is certainly not a prank – the writing is old and you said you brought it from your mother's house."

"We would have to verify it," Erik says, eyes sparkling.

"That should be easy enough," Christine says. "This is just too amusing." Her earlier chuckles evolves into a full out laughter.

Erik joins in her jollity, falling against one another, holding their stomachs.

" . . . …but Raoul is certain to be…deeply distressed." The name of his formal rival sobers him, his reserved posture returns. "Raoul. Poor man," Erik says. "I shall take this with me tomorrow. The brothers will be coming by to discuss how much they wish us to assist in locating Raoul's child."

"So you _are_ going to get involved?" Christine asks. She, too, leaves frivolity behind, straightening her dress and re-tying the ribbon around her ponytail.

"That Phantom Security was going to be involved was never was a question – however, I was going to stay out of the investigation – Nadir and Darius were going to take care of it. Now that it appears we are related, I feel I must be personally involved."

"Me, too?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Um."

"That is not an answer."

"You can come to the meeting. I am not certain what you might add or what you can do on a practical level, but you are definitely part of the familial connection and should be a part of the discussion. As far as the investigation, however, these things are confidential – how much you would be allowed to know is up to the client."

"Oh, good," she says, throwing her arms around him. "You are the best husband."

"Compliments will get you anywhere, my dear," he says, putting the Bible back on the table, he stands up, pulling her to her feet.

"One more thing," she says, picking up another book she extracted from the stack. "I thought this book was compelling. Something worth further study. Although it would seem that you are already familiar with the writings and…illustrations."

"What book?"

She holds up a small book with a faded fabric cover.

"Ah, yes, the Kama Sutra – a most worthy oeuvre," he clears his throat. _"So long as lips shall kiss, and eyes shall see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee."*_

"I admit I was a bit taken aback – wondering if this is how we look during special loving," she says, snuggling up to his chest.

"I really could not say." His face flushing.

"We shall have to install some mirrors in the bedroom."

"Christine!"

"Why not?"

"Because I do not choose to look at myself in a mirror," he says. "Please, my dear. Let us get these books onto the shelves. I should like to see us moved here next week." Pulling away from her embrace, he gathers the books on the table, carrying them to the bookshelf.

"Just one mirror? Besides the one on the vanity?" she pouts, running after him.

"No."

"I would wager that our astrological charts suggest we enjoy special loving together." Taking up some books and handing them to him to put on one of the higher shelves.

"And you would win."

"So why not watch?"

"Um."

"See, you have no good reason," she says tickling him under his raised arms, causing him to drop the books he holds.

"Stop, that Christine Daae," he groans, dodging behind one of the chairs to escape the torture of her delicate fingers.

"Saint-Rien – Christine Saint-Rien."

"Whatever – just do not do that tickling."

"Mirror?"

"Alright – one. Just one – I suppose a cheval mirror is necessary for assuring one is dressed properly."

"Oh, yes, that is perfect, they can be adjusted and moved about quite easily."

"Can we finish with the books now?" Erik risks walking back to the bookcase.

Christine feints movement toward him and he jumps, holding his arms fast at his sides. Her riotous laughter, has him flushed and peeved, until she wraps her arms around him, resting her head against his back. "No more tickling."

"And you say I am a brat," he harrumphs.

* * *

"I do not understand why we have heard nothing." Raoul paces Phillippe's study. "If this was done for money, why are they not asking for money? What if the child is dead? Do babies not need mother's milk?

Phillippe puts an arm around his brother's shoulder and walks him to the leather couch. "Please, relax, Raoul, you are wearing yourself down," he says. "It is entirely possible that the plan is for you to be so panicked that you will do something foolish."

"Inspector Marquand said the same thing," Raoul groans. "Am I such a dolt?"

* * *

" _What are the papers?" Raoul asked._

 _Inspector Marquand continues dusting the flour off the packet of papers retrieved from the bin. "This first set appears to be documents of ownership for this apartment." He handed them to Raoul._

" _Yes, I have a copy – the flat was to be a gift, but reverted back to the de Chagny estate upon her marriage or death." He laid the papers on the coffee table. The other furniture had been set right and the garments given to Meybel to put into Marie-Corrinne's room._

 _Marquand riffled through a larger packet of papers. "Some sort of diary – this might be of value."_

" _How so?"_

" _The dates appear to coincide with the term of her pregnancy. So, dates and times, what appear to be initials – perhaps signifying names. More letters – possibly describing the reason for each meeting." He showed one of the pages to Raoul._

 _1 Juliette – 9 RC – 1_ _st_ _yes._

 _2 Juliette – 1 GP – dj – yes_

 _2 Juliette – 9 RC – s - yes_

 _3 Juliette – 9 RC – s – yes_

 _4 Juliette – 9 RC – s - no_

 _5 Juliette – 8 RC – s – no_

 _7 Juliette – 3 GP – e - yes_

 _8 Juliette – 11 GP – pdj – yes_

 _9 Juliette – 9 RC – s - no_

 _10 Juliette – 1 GP – dj – yes_

 _11 Juliette – 9 RC – s – no_

 _13 Juliette – 9 RC – s - no_

 _14 Juliette – 11 GP – no?_

 _18 Juliette – RC – s – yes_

" _Does this mean anything to you?"_

" _I suspect that I am RC – the dates – perhaps we met on those dates…"_

" _The letters?"_

" _If I were to guess, I would say meals – that and the numbers could be time of day."_

" _The yes and no?"_

" _I do not know." Raoul lowered his eyes._

 _Marquand nodded. "Very well – you think about it. The one I found of interest is 14 Juliette – the letters GP, no additional letters, and "no" with a question mark – as if she was unsure – then RC with a "yes" after a series of "no" comments. There are more pages to review, however," he said. "Here is one more sheet of paper."_

 _Raoul took it, rubbing the flour off his hands on to his trousers. "Addresses – just numbers and streets." He scanned them quickly. "Nothing jumps out at me – with a few exceptions, the locations are not the most desirable."_

" _Yes, my thought." He stood. "We should get Meybel home to her father. A trunk filled with costumes was discovered in the storeroom. One looks much like a police uniform for her to wear as a disguise."_

" _A disguise?"_

" _Her life is very much at risk if she is seen leaving with the police – I feel certain the building is being watched. They did not think she was present – I prefer that belief continue."_

" _Of course," Raoul agrees. "The costumes?"_

" _With your permission, we will remove it as well to examine the contents."_

" _Whatever you need."_

" _I shall take the papers with me and have the information copied so that you might have it, particularly the diary," Marquand said. "Tomorrow is Sunday – unless they are a brave sort, I doubt you will be contacted. I suspect they will use the public post – even a messenger would be dangerous."_

" _So I must wait?"_

" _We have these." Marquand waved the papers. "There may be another attempt to find them. I will leave Officer Piaget here."_

 _Raoul bent his head, closing his eyes – nodded._

" _I am sorry, but I doubt any harm will come to the child," the Inspector assured him. "I will be meeting with M. Khan – le Comte felt that he and his service could help and seeing this list of addresses, I must agree. You have the full support of the police, but every extra pair of legs and experience eyes will be welcome."_

* * *

"So – the diary – assignations – another suitor?" Phillippe asks, choosing a cigar and preparing it to smoke, sitting in his chair facing the fire – not looking at Raoul.

"Yes, I imagine that is so."

"You did not always have…relations."

"After the first few times – no…intercourse – other things."

"Later?"

"Occasionally…she never refused other…"

"Yes, I understand," Phillippe says. "Marquand will have the complete diary for you tomorrow?"

Raoul shrugs. "We are to meet him at the Security office tomorrow. If that suits your schedule."

Phillippe turns to look at his brother. "It does." Rising from his chair, he stubs out the cigar and walks to the couch. Holding out his hand to Raoul, he says, "Come, try to eat something."

"I feel such a fool – Marquand understood the notes, just as you did."

"Raoul, you are a young man – you are a _very sincere_ young man. I fear I sheltered you too much – you should have begun your naval commission last year."

"Before all this and the situation with Christine."

"Yes." Phillippe sighs. "If it gives you any consolation – Mlle. Arnault fooled me as well."

"The child _might_ be mine."

"Precisely – and we shall treat him as such," Phillippe sniffs, patting him on the back. "A light dinner would be best – and perhaps some brandy."

* * *

Nadir sits with his back resting against the tufted headboard, Adele nestles in his arms toying with the graying hairs that curl on his chest. "It is so quiet – I cannot recall when this home was so still."

"Meg insisted Monique attend Mass this morning – neither of them seemed truly awake, but she felt praying was in order."

"Darius?"

"He is meeting them there. Said he wants to view the location where the body was found and speak to the Monsigneur. He arranged it all yesterday."

"Indeed? He said nothing to me," he grumbles.

"Did you not put him in charge?"

"Yes," he admits.

"So he is behaving as if he is in charge," Adele retorts. "Meg said he would not enter the church, but for examining the Virgin's altar, and would wait for them outside until after Mass. He would conduct his interview – after which they would take luncheon."

"I wondered about the religious issue," he says, shifting his position to sit up even straighter.

"Is something wrong?"

"I just think about – your faith – my faith – which I admit has faltered," he says. "Were it not for me, you would be at church with the children."

"Yes, I am committing not one mortal sin, but two, at the moment – missing Mass and committing adultery."

"Adultery? Neither of us is married."

"Well, I do not know about technical adultery – but we are not married to one another – that is likely enough to damn me to hell in the eyes of the Church."

"Adele, you must not joke about such things."

"We shall never be married in the eyes of the Church – I would not ask you. So I shall be a sinner as long as I am with you – the rest of my life, God willing."

"I am serious."

"As am I. I have followed the Catholic faith my entire life," she says. "My prayers for a partner – for joy in my life – brought me you. So how can God be angry with me? Hell was where I lived before you loved me."

Tears fill his eyes. "You are most beautiful, Adele. The entire world is terrified of you, but with me, you are a gentle soul – if they only knew."

"They had best not find out – or you shall rue the day…" she laughs, gathering him back to her, encouraging him return to his reclining position.

Resisting, he folds his arms. "We must plan our wedding. If we are not blessed by Allah or your God, at least we will be proper in the eyes of society."

"As if I care. We can do that later," she says, kissing the soft skin of his throat. Snuggling her head into the crook of his neck, she sneaks a hand beneath the arms to rub his chest.

"Erik wants to be moved into the new apartment by next week."

"That is not our problem," she sighs, "at least not now."

"And sort out our own living arrangements…" His head turns away as she tries to kiss him.

"All in good time," Adele strokes his cheek. "What is the matter with you? Why are you so agitated?"

"I am meeting with the de Chagnys and Inspector Marquand tomorrow. Women being murdered, babies taken from the womb. An infant in jeopardy…" His chest rising and falling with the intensity of his recitation. "I feel ill-prepared for the responsibility."

"And how do you suppose grinding your teeth and clenching your jaws…and not kissing me will help?" She asks. "I will answer. It will not – it will only make you less alert – less prepared. Your skills are remarkable – you are the most astute, balanced, brilliant and kind man I know. You cannot be emotional about this." His earlobe is then bitten soundly, perhaps harder than is usual.

"Ouch!" Rolling on his side, he pulls her to him. "Was that necessary?"

"It would seem so."

He rewards her with a snicker. "I must thank Meg for being so thoughtful as to leave us this solitude."

"Put it on your list of things to do," Adele grunts. "She is learning. Being in love herself seems to have given her insights not present before." Wrapping her thighs around his hips, she says, "But I really do not care to talk about my daughter right now – or Erik – or Raoul or the Monsigneur."

"Agreed. You are correct, as always."

"Nadir, you will be fine. Stop talking or I shall bite more than your ear lobe."

* * *

"Thank you, Francois." Phillippe takes the envelope from the butler's hand. "How is Meybel faring?"

Their luncheon finished, the brothers sit in the nook looking onto the garden, savoring a snifter of brandy. Raoul's face softer, lids less heavy – the grimace gone.

"She is still frightened, but happy to be with her mother and in her own room." The butler's own stance is formal as always, but his manner relaxed. Reddened eyes reflect recent tears, but the smile on his face suggests they formed from joy rather than pain.

"Was she able to remember anything more about Mlle. Arnault?" Raoul asks.

"Inspector Marquand advised me that he would be having someone come to talk to her – not an officer, but a woman who works with M. Khan – a Mlle. Beauchamp. Once you have your meeting tomorrow – an interview will be set up for her." Francois' demeanor brightens even more, when speaking of his daughter and her importance in the investigation. "I am most grateful for your kindness to Meybel – allowing her these days to recuperate."

"We are pleased to be of support to her," Raoul answers. "Your family is important to us."

"Mlle. Beauchamp, he said?" asks Phillippe, quirking an eyebrow – tapping the edge of the lilac-scented stationary against the back of his hand.

"Yes, I believe that was the name – Giselle Beauchamp. He was hoping that Tuesday would be convenient for the household."

"Yes, that will be fine, if it is agreeable with you."

"It is, M. le Comte. I will advise Meybel."

"Then I will confirm that with him tomorrow at our meeting," Phillippe says. "Thank you, Francois."

The butler bows and takes his leave.

"Is Giselle not the stagehand at the Opera House?"

"Yes. She also works for Mms. Khan and Saint-Rien – or so I understand." Phillipe says, rising from the table.

"Indeed," Raoul chuckles, eying the unopened envelope. "Are you not going to read that?"

"Yes, I suppose I should."

"But do not want to see what the missive says," Raoul smirks.

"You are being rather cheeky."

"I just find it refreshing to see _you_ uncomfortable for a change." He leans back in his chair, finishing off his brandy.

Picking up a bread knife from the table, Phillippe slits open the envelope and removes a single folded sheet of paper. With a soft grunt, he pockets the letter. "I must go out for a short while," he says. "Will you be staying at home?"

"Yes, I think so," Raoul says. "Monique is spending the day with Meg and Darius. I am attempting to give her time to herself, although I am not much good at it. I think I shall make some notes about Marie-Corrinne – what I can remember – for the meeting tomorrow."

"Very well." Phillippe turns to leave.

"Brother?"

"Yes?"

"La Sorelli?"

"Yes."

"Bon chance."

"Hmmm." Phillippe turns on his heel and leaves.

* * *

" _I am no longer happy with our…situation, Phillippe."_

" _How so? We sup, we speak, we read, we make love."_

" _Once you wished to marry me – damn the social implications – damn what people would say."_

" _That was years ago. You refused my proposal. Have you changed your mind? Now?"_

" _I shall be honest – I cannot see myself dancing for too many more years – at least not in the same way I have done."_

" _You want a family?"_

" _No. No. Not that – although it might be worth discussing."_

" _I do not think so. You are financially secure, even after you leave the ballet – that was taken care of long ago. I am not certain marriage now would cure whatever malaise it is we are suffering."_

" _So you are not happy either?"_

" _I am…settled – which carries its own sort of happiness."_

" _That is not a life – I want more. I am used to more."_

" _Now I am_ certain _marriage is not the answer – I have no interest in the drama I know you love and crave. I am also certain I am not the answer for you."_

" _No, you are not."_

" _You have met someone?"_

" _Yes – it is but a flirtation, nothing more – at the moment – but I feel young again."_

" _That is a consideration, certainly, although you are far from being old. As I said, you are financially secure – that shall not change. Take your freedom, my dearest Sorelli, with my best wishes."_

" _Oh, Phillippe,"_

" _We shall always be friends."_

* * *

The graceful ballerina opens the heavy door to her flat – black hair pulled into a chignon secured with carved ivory combs. A cobalt blue satin dressing gown – the hem lined with feathers – hugs her dancer's body. She steps back allowing Phillippe entre. Closing the door behind him, she brushes a kiss against each cheek and leads him to the sitting room.

"Thank you for coming," she says. "I wondered that you would still wish to speak with me."

"Why on earth would you think I would not?" Phillippe says, sitting on the cerise brocade settee, removing his top hat, setting it down next to him.

"Our last meeting…" Situating herself on a pale blue velvet chaise, arranging her gown around her, she rests an arm along the arm.

"Relationships end." He shrugs. "May I ask why you wrote?"

"There is talk circulating through the Opera House – I thought you might like to know about." She purses her scarlet lips.

"And what might that be?" Relaxing into the settee, he crosses his legs and folds his arms across his chest.

"The female stagehand has set her sights on you."

Phillippe throws back his head and laughs. "This is what you felt required my urgent presence at your home?"

"Well, she is a commoner – not even an artiste – although I do understand that she once danced. Nevertheless…"

"And you are concerned about my good name," he says, unfolding his arms and legs, resting his hands on his thighs. "You always had the ability to make me laugh with your intensity. I do miss that."

"Are you laughing at my concern for you?"

"No, I am laughing at my own superciliousness. I must be, have been, an incredible prig for you to feel the need to inform me of such gossip. It is no wonder you became bored with me."

"So you do not care?" The heavily lashed eyes widen.

"Not a whit."

"Ah, you are interested in her as well…"

"I am – she is most delightful."

"Oh."

"And you – how is your…flirtation progressing?"

Her natural color brighter than the rouge and powder. "Quite well, I must say," she says. "He actually has a brain – a gift I was not expecting."

Their eyes meet and both break out in laughter.

"Youth is a wonderful thing," Sorelli says.

"Friends are a wonderful thing," Phillippe says, rising to his feet. "I suspect that you did not dress so seductively for my benefit, so I shall take my leave, if that is what you wished to tell me."

"You know me too well."

"Alas, that was the problem for us, I fear. Walk me to the door?" He extends his arm.

"Of course." Taking his elbow, she stops him from moving forward. "Phillippe? That is not all."

"Yes, what is it?" He asks, brow furrowing.

"There is also talk of a murder – murders of young women – young women with child." Her voice a whisper.

"You know something of this?" His grey eyes search her face.

"Not really, but I overheard some of the girls talking about a doctor – one who arranges adoptions for women who wish to give up babies born out of wedlock… but that some of them died."

"Yes?"

"It is said one of these girls was seeing Raoul – one of the murdered women."

"Tragically, that is so," Phillippe says. "Is there any girl or girls to whom we might speak? Someone who might have more information?"

She nods. "Nicole – the tall one. She dances brilliantly, but cannot be partnered because of her height. That is also a tragedy."

Phillippe pats her hand and smiles. "Thank you." He bends to kiss her cheek.

Resuming their walk to the door, she says, "I still love you, you know."

"And I, you, my lovely ballerina."

* * *

Erik lays the Bible on the kitchen table and helps Christine with her cloak, hanging it up, then removing his outer wear putting the cloak and hat in their place. "Tea?"

"I shall do it," she says, filling the kettle, then bringing the tea things from the cupboard, setting them on the table. "You sit – you must be exhausted putting all those books away."

"Some bread and cheese?" he asks, ignoring her suggestion by removing both from the larder, along with a pot of mustard and a jar of pickles. "Herring? Or there is some beef?"

"Herring, please."

The food stuffs join the tea set on the linen cloth. Christine take her chair, while Erik sets out plates, linen and silver. Taking his own seat they wait for the water to boil, both staring in front of them.

"I brought this book home," she says, pulling the Kama Sutra from her reticule.

"You are most stubborn, my dear," Erik chuckles, shaking his head. "Do you like the apartment?"

"I do, but I am glad we decided to continue to live here as well – at least during performances." She reaches over to remove his mask.

"Oh, I forgot," he forces a smile, smoothing his sparse hair.

"What is wrong? You are being far too quiet and formal for my taste."

His long fingers tap the Bible. "Who would have suspected I would be related to nobility?"

She rests her hand on his. "Does that not make you a noble as well?"

"I truly do not know – but I think not – the connection is through my father's mother – the woman my mother's father seduced." His hand flits the idea away. "In any event – it is not significant," he says. "What I found remarkable was the feeling in my chest…" He pounds his fist lightly against his heart. "Once I connected that piece of information to the missing baby."

She tilts her head. "You did not care about the child before?"

"I did, but not in such a way – he is my flesh – Raoul and Phillippe are my flesh. I must do for them what I would do for you or Nadir or Adele."

Christine rises from her chair – wrapping her arms around him from behind the chair – resting her cheek against his head. The water is ready – she retrieves the kettle from the stove and fills the teapot. They prepare their meal and nibble at the food.

"We will find him," Christine says, breaking the silence, reaching for his hand.

"We must."

* * *

* Mallanaga Vātsyāyana


	10. Family Ties

_Are you alone?_

Nadir starts at the sound of the voice in his ear. Despite all these years with Erik, he is still nonplussed at such conversations.

"Adele is here."

"Erik?" She looks up from Veronique's and Giselle's drawings that will be presented to Erik later in the day – their proposals for the costumes and sets for the review being planned. The effort of blending unrelated and, often, contradictory songs without a story line has been a challenge, but Adele admires the efforts of both women and believes Erik will be pleased.

"Yes. I think I would prefer he just arrive – take his chances at someone catching him walking through walls and mirrors," Nadir says, putting down his pencil, pushing aside the notes Darius gave to him about his meeting with the Monseigneur.

"That is a thought – startle more people than just your good self," Erik says. "Anything new to report?" He removes his hat as he follows Christine into the Phantom Security office.

"Unfortunately, the priest had nothing much to offer. The church was kept open at all times for those wanting sanctuary, or merely wishing to pray. Rounds were made, generally in conjunction with prayers – their Daily Office it is called. Nothing untoward was reported until the bodies were found, suggesting those leaving the bodies were familiar with the routines of the church."

"Routines are both a blessing and a bane to detectives – are they not, my friend?"

"Something you know nothing about," Nadir grumbles. "Why are you here – you said you did not wish to be involved in this investigation."

"Is this a problem?" Christine asks, her fingers ghost over an oval ruby brooch Adele has pinned to the neckline of her traditional black dress. "Beautiful." Joining Adele on the brown settee, tucking her own blue and green plaid skirt around her, she notices the portfolio on the coffee table in front of her. "Are these the sketches Veronique has been so excited about?"

"Yes – perhaps you would like to sit in on the meeting later – when Erik was expected." Adele hands her some of the drawings.

"I would indeed," Christine leafs through the pages. "These are wonderful. Erik, you are going to be so pleased."

"I am sure I shall be – Veronique has already proven herself to be a wonderful artist."

"My comment meant no offense toward you, Christine, I was not expecting either of you," Nadir says, glaring at Erik. "Adele was planning to leave once Marquand arrived – where is everyone to sit?"

"Sit? Are there no other chairs in this entire building?" Erik cocks his head toward Nadir, raising an eyebrow at Adele.

She shrugs and shakes her head.

"Why so upset, my friend?" Erik frowns. "Christine discovered something that may relate to the case – at least my interest in the case," Erik explains. "That is why we are here – I wanted both you and Adele to know – before I spoke to Comte Phillippe…and the Vicomte."

Noticing the large black book Erik carries, Nadir asks, "Something in your family Bible involves the Chagnys?"

"Cousins would be my guess?" Adele says. "Would you agree, Nadir?"

"Yes, most likely, and not very distant," he smirks.

"A person would have to be blind not to see physical resemblances between you and Phillippe. I suspect had you been blessed with a normal face, the similitude would be more apparent – even so, one can see it in the lines of your faces and your physiques, especially now that you have put on some weight."

"Why did you never say anything to me?" Erik complains, dropping the Bible on the desk.

"To what purpose – many people share similar traits," she retorts. "Your personalities are alike as well, if anyone cares to notice."

"But Raoul…" Christine wrinkles her nose. "Do you think he looks like Erik?"

"Vaguely, but not so defined – Raoul is rounder, not so chiseled. He is a softer, weaker version of Phillippe."

"And, thus, even more so of Erik," Christine giggles, covering her mouth with her hand – her face flushing pink.

Adele joins in her laughter.

Nadir clears his throat. "What is it about women that everything becomes about…romance?"

Adele harrumphs. "Men have another word for it – less socially acceptable. Do not pretend women are not discussed in such a manner by men – probably more so, I would venture."

"Enough," Erik says, smothering the smile forming on his lips with the back of his hand. "So you believe Comte Phillippe is aware of this."

"On one level or another," Nadir says. "I am certain he had you investigated quite thoroughly once you revealed you actually had a name. You will have to ask him how much or how little he knows." He rises to pour himself another cup of tea. Holding up the pot to Christine, "Tea?"

"Please," she says.

"I shall have some as well," Erik says, sitting down at the desk, opening the book. "Claudine, etc., etc., de Chagny – no title – was married to Alexandre, etc., etc., Saint-Rien. They had a male child – Charles." Accentuating the point by pressing his finger directly on the entry. "She was the woman my mother's father had the affair with, I presume."

A light knock on the door sounds.

"Entre!" Nadir calls out.

Phillippe and Raoul enter the room – dressed in almost identical gray morning coats and top hats. Phillippe's manner is as usual – contained and elegant. Raoul's face bears the signs of grief – having aged years in a few days. Dark circles beneath his eyes, complexion sallow, the normal high color dulled.

With unspoken consent, despite the jocularity of their earlier conversation, the solemnity of the brothers' demeanor precludes any more humor from the two couples.

"M. Khan, Mme. Giry – M. and Mme. Saint-Rein, good morning," Phillippe says.

Raoul nods to each of them, holding Christine in his gaze for a moment before taking a seat on the opposite settee to where she and Adele are seated. He removes his hat and places it on the end table next to him. Sitting erect, hands folded on his lap, he stares at a point on the wall above her head.

"I was under the impression you would not be present for this meeting," Phillippe continues, looking around for a place to seat himself.

"May I speak with you in private, M. le Comte?" Erik asks, rising from his chair.

"But of course." An eyebrow quirks at the Bible sitting on the desk. Both eyebrows raise when Erik lifts the book and carries it to the door.

"May we use your office, Adele?" Erik asks.

"Certainly." She removes a key from her pocket and offers it to him.

"Erik?" Christine starts to rise from the sofa.

"Not now – if that is acceptable to you," Erik says, his eyes soft in a plea.

Relaxing back into the settee, she nods.

Raoul, observing the exchange, says, "Is there something I need to know?"

"In time, my brother," Phillippe says.

* * *

Erik lets them into Adele's office, turning on the desk lamp, adding to the light coming in from the single window. He sets the Bible down on her desk next to the light.

"So you have discovered our connection," Phillippe says, walking to the desk and lifting the cover of the Bible with a long finger, riffling the pages to the family history entries. "Where?" He steps back.

Erik points out the names.

"Grand-pere's sister – grand-tante Claudine," he says. "May I sit?" he asks, indicating the chaise, removing his hat.

"Of course." Erik sits at Adele's desk. "How long have you known?"

"When all the business occurred with Raoul and I recognized the name immediately. In tracing it back to Rouen, no record of an Erik Saint-Rien could be found. I assumed you were related in some way to her husband, but was not certain we had any blood connection."

"Charles Saint-Rien was my father."

"Ah, their son."

"Charles was the son of your great aunt and _my mother's father_. Her marriage to Alexandre was barren, under French law he accepted Charles as his to protect Claudine's – and his name. All of this was disclosed in a letter to my mother after his death, my father never knew – he died before I was born. My grandfather passed shortly after."

"Your mother must have been destroyed by those losses."

Erik's back stiffens, the gold eyes darken.

Phillippe sits back into the chaise, one arm folded across him, the other raised, tapping his forefinger against his lips, his eyes focused on the past. "Yes. I do remember chatter about a scandal of some sort—I was too young to have much interest. There may have been some sort shunning, because I do not recall any interaction between our families. I may have met your father, but have no recollection of it."

When he turns to face Erik, the gray eyes narrow – taking in the mask and what he can see of the deformed lips that are not entirely hidden, his eyes widen. "I see. Your parents were siblings?"

Erik nods. "Half-siblings – but, yes, brother and sister."

"The deformity?"

"Possibly that and other circumstances."

"So that is why your birth was not well documented," Phillippe's tone calm and controlled, continuing to take Erik's measure.

"The priest who attended my birth kept the records, including the aforementioned letter – I received those upon my mother's passing – along with the Bible."

"She blamed you and cast you out?"

"In a sense – I was kept inside, though – hidden from view. I ultimately ran away – but that is not the issue."

"I would be interested in knowing more of your life, but that is up to you – what you might wish to disclose – I suspect you have quite a story to tell." Closing the Bible, he asks, "What is it, then, you wish from me?"

"Nothing but consent. This missing baby is my blood and I wanted you to know that whatever differences I may have had with Raoul, I will do everything within my power to find the boy."

"Yes, you would do that," Phillippe says, rising from the sofa. "Thank you, I was hoping you would change your mind. I shall inform Raoul of these new circumstances – I doubt he will see the irony – some things cannot be taught."

Erik allows a laugh at the gesture of humor, joining Phillippe at the door.

"Mme. Christine?"

"She discovered the entry. We both found it amusing – ironic, as you said. She also wishes to be of service."

"Remarkable woman. We have crossed swords."

"So I understand."

* * *

Marquand rises from Erik's chair behind the partners' desk. "Le Comte, M. Saint-Rien – I apologize, I was informed you would not be present for the meeting." He moves away from the desk, looking at a loss.

Motioning the Inspector keep his seat, Erik says, "Stay there – this is fine." Sitting next to Christine, he sets the Bible down on the coffee table.

Her eyes find his and he nods. Turning to Phillippe, she smiles.

Adele rises. "I shall be leaving now. Christine?"

"Not yet – I will be along in a bit," she says, handing Adele the drawings.

Adele makes a moue, glancing at Nadir, who shrugs, she takes her leave.

Awaiting direction from Inspector Marquand, Darius stands behind Nadir's chair, both men solemn in their astrakhan hats. Raoul sits as if cast in stone, much the same as when Erik and Phillippe left the room. Phillippe pulls the guest chair to the door facing it toward the others in the room.

Everyone settled, Marquand reviews the set of papers – Dr. Gerard's medical report, Marie-Corrinne's diary, the list of addresses and the financial agreement between the dead woman and Raoul.

"I would ask that Mme. Saint-Rien not see the diary," Raoul says, his blue eyes shift from the blank wall to hers.

Lowering her head, breaking the contact, she nods. Erik moves the booklet to one side and instead shows her the single page of addresses.

She touches his hand, pointing to an address. He nods. "One of these addresses belongs to Dr. Gerard – he is our doctor. This is where we saw Mlle. Arnault with her companion the day of her death."

"You are quite correct, Dr. Gerard's address was familiar to us because of his work with the police. We were able to check out all of the addresses as to ownership – each of the five is a doctor's office. These doctors all practice obstetrics as well as a general practice – which is a rather new situation," Marquand informs them. "We need to interview each of these doctors. Gerard had an agreement with Dr. Perdue, but never saw – simply allowed him to use his office one day a week, based on the word of an associate at Maternite de Paris*.

It was understood that Perdue provided free services to the women who came to see him – addressing their needs and, in many instances, finding homes for the infants women wished to give up for adoption."

"So, he was not some evil opportunist – not a murderer, at all?" Christine says.

"At this point, Madame, we do not know who or what he is or was. He is missing – not seen or heard from at the residence address Dr. Gerard provided to us," the Inspector says. "The only witness we have to his existence right now is yours and M. Saint-Rien's testimony that Mlle. Arnault knew him and asked for him at Dr. Gerard's office – and the initials GP in her diary: German Perdue."

"Dr. Gerard's nurse – did she not know him?" Erik asks.

"She only confirms what you said – Mlle. Arnault insisted on seeing Dr. Perdue."

"As for the interviews with the other doctors, I shall be able to assist with that, Inspector, if you wish," Darius says. "Five interviews can be handled quite easily, I would think. The doctor at the maternity hospital will involve more time as the referring person – but I believe this can be accomplished by tomorrow." Moving to Nadir's side, he addresses the daroga. "If that is acceptable to you, M. Khan."

"That sounds satisfactory. The list is not long and you are well-trained – take Henri with you." His chest puffs out, looking at the young man he rescued from his life as a eunuch in a Persian harem. To Inspector Marquand he says, "Our business is keeping criminals out – thus giving us the ability to know who the criminals are."

"Perfect," Marquand says.

"My butler, Francois advised that his daughter, our maid, Meybel, was to be interviewed by another of your people, M. Khan," Phillippe says. "Giselle Beauchamp?"

"Yes…"

"Meybel?" Christine says, bouncing in her seat. "I know Meybel, she attended my needs when I was…a guest at your home, Raoul."

"This would appear to be quite helpful," Marquand says.

Erik raises his hand. "That is well and good, my dear, but…"

Shifting herself to address him head on, her mouth a firm line, she says, "I know her and she knows me – she would be comfortable talking to me – more so than a stranger – woman or not. The Inspector agrees."

The other pairs of eyes find elsewhere to focus their attention.

Taking her hand, Erik closes his eyes, and nods. "Could we manage to arrange this so that my wife's identity is not compromised? She was seen by this Mme. Laurance, however briefly," Erik says to Marquand.

"Of course."

Squeezing Christine's hand, and looking directly into her eyes, he says, "I should also like Giselle to be with you. Two of you may be able to elicit more information than just one. She is likely to still be frightened and fearful of speaking and may need some coaxing – Giselle could do that when you might wish to be sympathetic."

"I am agreeable to Giselle's presence," Christine says. "Thank you. The support will be welcome."

Phillippe breaks his neutral posture with a small smile.

As if sensing his newfound cousin's mood, Erik glances at the count, acknowledging the grin with one of his own.

"There will be much coming and going from the house with police presence – I do not see any problem with bringing the two women in by coach – hiding them from view – taking them to the rear of the house – leaving in the same manner." Marquand says.

"Bien," Erik says. "Tomorrow morning – Giselle will come to work as is usual – I think it best if both women exit from the stage entrance – there will be crew around for cover."

"Excellent."

* * *

Christine enters Adele's office – Inspector Marquand on her heels.

Giselle and Veronique jump up from their seats on the royal blue chaise. Adele remains seated at her desk. "Inspector – to what do we own this honor?"

Christine waves him follow her in. "Inspector Marquand wishes to arrange the time for Giselle and me to be gathered for an interview with Meybel – Marie-Corrinne's maid."

"M. Khan spoke of that – you will be there Mme. Saint-Rien?" Giselle asks, taking her seat, pulling Veronique down next to her.

"Christine. Please."

"It would seem that Mme. Saint-Rien…Christine is acquainted with Meybel. We believe her presence will make the young woman feel more secure, enabling her to remember more than she might with a stranger."

Adele raises her eyebrows – exchanging a look with Christine. "So you are agreeable with re-visiting that time?"

"Yes. If it will help us to find the baby. It was my suggestion." Recognizing all the eyes that are on her – in response to Adele's question, Christine sighs deeply before she says, "Before I married Erik, Raoul de Chagny and I were engaged for a short while. During that time, I lived at the de Chagny home and Meybel served as my maid. We became friends – neither of us being from the social class of my hosts and her employers – she was a comfort to me."

"I see," says Inspector Marquand. "This period would seem to encompass the dates included in the diary – am I correct?"

Christine nods.

"Perhaps I can persuade the young Vicomte that your review of the diary would be helpful," Marquand says. "While I would prefer his consent, it is not necessary."

"Whatever you advise, Inspector – I do not wish to cause him any more discomfort than he is already experiencing."

"He need not know. I shall see you and Mlle. Beauchamp tomorrow," he says bringing Giselle into the conversation.

Adele rises from her chair behind the desk and walks over to the Inspector – guiding him to the door. "Nine would be an excellent time, I should think." Looking to Giselle and Christine for their approval.

Both women nod.

"Nine is it, then. A carriage shall meet you at the stage door – an officer will give you his name – Jean Fremed – and a note from me. Like this," he says, handing Christine his calling card after writing a note on the back, which she pockets. "I shall write the same thing on his card. Do not go with anyone who does not offer both pieces of information," he says. "I will see you at the de Chagny residence," he says, doffing his hat and taking his exit.

Adele returns to her desk and motions for Christine to sit in her guest chair.

The three young women with their blue, brown and green eyes wait for their instructions from their dour-faced Madame Giry.

Adele bursts out laughing, "You look like rabbits facing a hungry wolf."

"There was always gossip about M. Christine and le Vicomte…and M. Erik – the Opera Ghost…" Veronique says.

"It was said the…Opera Ghost killed Joseph Buquet and caused the chandelier to fall – that the Vicomte wanted to capture and kill him, but he escaped – taking Christine with him," Giselle adds, glancing at Christine.

"Is that the man you know? The man who has admired and supported you?" Christine asks her.

Giselle's face reddens – she shakes her head. "Those are just stories I heard."

"I see some of the old tales are still being spread – despite the corrections and people actually knowing Erik as he is now," Adele grumbles. "May I offer some explanation, Christine?"

"If it will ease their minds, I see no problem." Looking in front of her, she folds her hands on her lap – mouth a flat line, face expressionless.

Standing up, her staff in hand, Adele begins her tale – pacing the small space. "Christine and Raoul were friends as children, but lost touch. He became a patron of the Opera the same night she made her debut in HANNIBAL and was smitten. Erik, was teaching Christine voice and fell in love with her. He feared Raoul's attentions to Christine would have her leave him, so abducted her for a time. He brought her back after a few weeks – neither of them has ever revealed what happened during that time to anyone." Heavily drawn eyebrows rise as she glances at Christine who continues to show no emotion.

"The opera was closed for a time, after the fall of the chandelier – which, incidentally, was sabotaged by Buquet – before his fatal accidental. That is when Christine resided at the de Chagny house and they became engaged. When Erik's opera was being produced, a certain amount of… chaos happened during the performance. Erik and Raoul had an…argument. Christine realized that it was Erik she loved and broke off the engagement with Raoul," Adele says, taking a deep breath after the recitation, plopping into her chair. "I believe that sums it up."

"Sounds like a book or a play," Veronique says. "I heard talk from those who worked here at the time of these events – my job as a cleaner did not allow me much access to gossip. While it matters not to me, I am pleased to know that all was resolved for yours and M. Erik's happiness."

Christine smiles. "Thank you, Veronique."

"You are the dearest person, Veronique." Rolling her eyes, Giselle says, "I suspect there is more to the story – judging from the gossip, but, I, too, am pleased at the end result because I do know how kind both you and M. Erik are." She walks to the armoire, helping herself to another cup of tea.

"Giselle!" Adele exclaims, rising to her feet.

Christine holds up her hand. "Such as it is, Adele's disclosure is true. What she has not said – or does not know – is of no one's concern beyond my husband and myself. Her intent was simply an attempt to provide you background regarding my connection to the de Chagnys – to salve your curiosity," Christine says. "Believe what you will – it matters naught to me. The Opera House gossips can be quite cruel – as you may soon discover."

"Touche," Adele says.

Giselle lowers her eyes in response to the comments of Christine and Adele, nodding in concession to the truth of Christine's words – talk has already reached her about Phillippe. "You are correct. I apologize."

" _Who was the first, do you think?"_

" _Oh, La Sorelli, of course."_

" _Are you certain?"_

" _That young baron has been lurking about for some time – now she allows him into her dressing room."_

" _But I saw le Comte drinking champagne with the carpenter girl."_

" _She took a dress from wardrobe."_

" _I suspect he will be buying her some fancy drawers soon enough."_

" _Annette saw them at the cabaret."_

" _I wish he would notice me."_

" _Maybe you should learn to build scenery."_

" _Start with a bed."_

"So we are to go to their home tomorrow – the de Chagny house?" Giselle continues, covering the grin threatening to break across her face.

Softening her own lips, Christine says, "Yes, Erik thought it best the two of us be with Meybel – believing we might balance one another."

"I am pleased he has such faith in my abilities for detection." Returning to her seat, Giselle picks up the new sketches she brought with her and hands them to Adele. "I hope he feels the same about my design skills."

"Erik is quite adept at judging people, although we all make mistakes on occasion," Adele says, directing a pointed look at Giselle, as she receives the sketches.

"I suspect his perception will continue to prove correct," Christine says, while she and Veronique examine the new drawings, oohing and aahing at Giselle's recent additions to the portfolio. "These seem to address some of the issues we have with the song transitions."

The talk of engagements and chaos – old and new love affairs are swept aside as the women get caught up in discussing each of their visions for the new production.

* * *

Phillippe, Raoul and Darius take their leave, following Marquand and Christine from the Security Office. Erik and Nadir both relax into their seats, heads resting against wool and leather, respectively.

"So, my friend, what are your ideas for the two of us – the others all having been dispatched to their assignments – including your lovely wife?" Nadir asks, sitting forward, elbows on the desk. He picks up his ever-present pencil, tapping it on the pad in front of him. The sheaf of papers from Inspector Marquand, along with Dr. Gerard's medical report, his own earlier notes and minutes of this meeting are stacked to one side – demanding his review once he is alone.

"You shall deal with those papers calling out to your fine mind. I shall watch the watchers once I discover where they lurk. My first visit will be to Marie-Corrinne's apartment tonight," Erik stands up, stretching his arms and legs. "These couches are too short, I have a crick in my back."

"You are taller than many, Erik – the sofas are made for those of average height," Nadir responds. "Do you think the apartment is being watched?"

"Marquand believes so – he still has an officer stationed inside the flat. I shall be doing reconnaissance outside – which is more likely to reap rewards."

Nadir shuffles the papers again. "How did the meeting go with le Comte?"

"As a child, he was vaguely aware of the scandal, such as it was, with his great aunt, but not very interested. Unsure, but doubtful that he ever met my father. After investigating me – as you correctly surmised – he found nothing more than a name connection to her husband."

He finds his pencil and sets it next to his writing pad. "You showed him the Bible?"

"Yes, after some processing, he was able to figure things out."

The papers are moved to the other side of his desk. "Did you tell him anything about your life?"

"Not really – he asked if I was cast out. I told him the opposite was true – that I ran away." Erik strides to the armoire to pour himself a drink. "Brandy?"

"No – even the smallest amount of liquor is a distraction for me – with all this." He waves his hand over the paperwork.

Erik pours the brandy back into the carafe. "You are correct. Shall I make fresh tea?"

"That would be welcome. Thank you." His jacket is straightened, unbuttoned – then rebuttoned.

"He said he was interested in knowing more, but would respect my wishes," Erik tells him, pouring water in the kettle from a pitcher – setting it on the gas-fired hot plate. "Do you mind if I add new leaves to these, or would you prefer fresh?"

"Mix them, it is fine." Nadir swivels his chair to watch Erik at his homely ministrations. "You have real family now," he announces.

"I like Phillippe and I am glad I did not kill Raoul," Erik chuckles. "I told him I wished to find this child because he was my blood. That is the importance."

"The merest chance that a child of my kinship risks being harmed is unconscionable to me. I think of my baby Christine carries – I think about your Reza." Tears fill Erik's eyes. He brushes them away with a napkin, as best he can, before putting the fresh cup of tea in front of Nadir – carrying his own cup to his side of the desk, facing the man who, for the longest period of time, was the only person in the world who cared about him. "So, yes it _is_ important, but not the _most_ important. _You_ are my family, daroga – the person I love most in the world with the exception of my Christine. I would not know how to be with her, such as I am, were it not for you."

Nadir bobs his head before taking a sip of his tea, "I like it mixed – a stronger brew."

"Good, I am happy you like it."

They sit for a moment in silence.

"I must go to the meeting with our talented ladies," Erik says, rising from his chair.

"Perhaps Christine should come home with Adele and myself? Or perhaps we might await you here – that would be easier for her, I think – being close to home."

"Thank you – I will let them know."

"Be careful."

"I cannot be otherwise – there is too much in my life now. Still I can travel places others cannot," he says, opening his desk drawer to pull out a black cloth mask that covers his entire face. He folds and pockets it.

"You have your lasso?"

"Always – although I do not plan to use it – any sort of capture would prove fruitless, I must find their lair," he laughs. "I will see where that leads – I doubt to the child, though. One step at a time."

"Your arm?"

"The right is sore – not my left, thankfully. I shall be fine and will collect Christine when this small mission is complete."

* * *

"Madame Giry, I believe you will agree we need to find a new bookkeeper," Erik says.

Veronique's face falls. "Did I make an error with the receipts? Oh, please, I cannot lose this job." She turns to Christine, then Giselle, and finally to Adele – who starts laughing.

"We wish to employ you full time as a designer – you will not have time to do your administrative work," Adele tells her. "Much as I hate to lose you – I cannot keep you from your art."

Christine is the first to rise from her seat to hug the young mother, who was one of M. Robert's victims, mistaking Veronique for Christine not so long ago. "Your gowns are simply stunning. I cannot wait to wear them. Thank you for accommodating the baby's growth."

"I suspect that we shall also see Mlle. Beauchamp taking on a role other than carpenter," Erik adds. "M. Khan will be most upset at losing you with the Security business."

"Must I lose that job? I love it…and the design. I never thought my drafting could be a career – my father would be so proud."

"I am certain we can work something out," Adele says. "It is getting late – the day has flown by and I suspect young Andre will be wanting his dinner."

"True. He is likely napping in his cubby," Veronique says, gathering up the sketches. "Thank you, both."

"Thank you," Giselle adds. Turning to Christine, she says, "I shall see you in the morning, then?"

"Yes, it will be good to see Meybel again – I hope we can bring her some peace."

The two women leave, smiling and chattering about their successful meeting.

Christine takes Erik's hand, pulling him up from the chaise, "If it is acceptable to you, Madame, shall we rouse Nadir and have an early supper before going home?"

Wrapping his arms around her, Erik kisses her forehead, breathing in the scent of gardenias, the fragrance he chose for her. Looking over her head to Adele. "I must attend to some business – dealing with the investigation _now_ – as it is getting dark. I shall return here when I am finished. Would you be so kind as to keep Christine company until then?"

Adele nods. "Of course."

"What! No!"

Pulling her closer to him, he says, "This is something only I can do, my dear."

Adele rises from her desk. "I shall be in the Security Office." She leaves, closing the door softly behind her.

Erik draws Christine to the chaise.

"You plan to track whomever is watching Marie-Corrine's apartment?"

Erik sighs and nods. "Just locating them – seeing what they look like and hopefully where they live. If there are two, they are likely taking shifts. I must go now before it is completely dark, to identify whoever is there and follow him when he leaves."

"What if they spot you?"

"Unlikely, but I can always remove my mask," he snorts.

"That is not funny, Erik."

"No, but it is true."

"What if you find the baby there?"

"Then I will take him," he responds. "That is unlikely, however. He is being suckled by a nourrice – fed, but not loved – somewhere other than where these hoodlums roost. This is part of the business our Dr. Perdue created for himself, I suspect – complete maternal care. The deaths were very possibly accidents. That is not for me to determine. My task is to find the child. This is the first step."

Falling to his knees in front of her, he takes her hands and kisses them.

"This excites you, though, does it not?" She asks, pulling their joined hands to her heart. "Part of you is still wild - I see the excitement in your eyes – your fervor." Her smile bittersweet. "This is where your passion comes from when we love, when you create your music." Sighing deeply, she says, "I cannot deprive you of this search, much as I wish I could." Bending to kiss him full on the mouth, their lips clinging, even as she releases him. "Be safe."

Rising, taking his hat and cape from the coat rack, putting them on as he walks behind his desk to open the hidden door to the tunnels. "I shall return as quickly as I can – you must get your rest." With that he is gone.

* * *

The shadows of dusk provide better disguise than full darkness – colors fade to gray – illusion reigns. Preferring the street to the sewers, his walk to Rue St. Honore is brisk and invigorating. The hunt feeds a hunger – Christine knows him well – he thumbs the gold ring that was once her father's. Despite the joy that is his life now – she understands he still needs to touch danger – if only in this simple exercise.

The rush was there in the confrontation with M. Robert – first the planning – then coming so close to dying – yet surviving – the ache in his right shoulder a reminder of that day – was it just a week ago?

Luck is with him – a young man – rough-looking – stands in the doorway of a shop closed for the day – out of place on this modest, yet elegant, street. Silly choice when a cafe is next door with tables and chairs, offering anonymity within the small contingent of customers. Possibly without funds; probably believing he is hidden – he stares at Marie-Corrine's building – another give-away. He could garrote him – hardly missing a beat. No one would even notice. But the fidgeting creature was the guide to, what Erik hoped would be, the next step in finding the baby – Raoul's baby – his cousin's baby – his cousin.

Folding himself into the darkness of a small alleyway, he waits.

* * *

 **A/N *Maternité de Paris, Port-Royal**

The Maternité de Paris, Port-Royal was the "lying-in" hospital for the poor women of Paris. The obstetrician Stéphane Tarnier pioneered use of incubators for premature infants at the Maternité at the end of the 19th century. He trained many other important French obstetricians, some of which (such as Auvard and Budin) went on to make important contributions to the care of newborns.

"It is impossible to describe the genesis of advanced newborn care without talking about the convent of Port Royal, a maternity and midwife school. At the end of the 19th century, new concepts of maternal and neonatal care emerged from the facility. Medical knowledge spread rapidly across Europe, and allowed the diffusion of new technology. Medicine entered a scientific era, which ultimately gave new directions to perinatal health care.

"The Port Royal convent, close to the Luxembourg Garden in Paris in 1625, was transformed into a prison during the French Revolution (also called Prison de La Bourbe and Port-Libre). In 1814, the prison was converted into a maternity, and was fully completed in 1818.

"The Paris School of Midwives moved in 1794 from the Hotel Dieu, close to the church of Notre Dame where it had been located since 1610, to two different specialized locations. One taught the art of delivery and was located at the Oratoire rue d'Enfer; the other, dedicated to post-partum and breastfeeding, moved to the ex-prison of La Bourbe. From there, it moved again to the Port Royal Maternity in 1814."


	11. Deceptions

DECEPTIONS

Movement. Not assured movement, but the fidgeting stops. Tired of waiting he is. The annoyance in the man – small, but burly, accustomed to movement and action, rubbing his hands on his thighs – is palpable. Gathering courage? Impatient with the wait? How long has he been watching the building? Days – alternating shifts with one other? The maid, Meybel, said there were two besides the Laurence woman.

The policeman inside must be equally impatient. Unable to light a lamp – show any sign of life. Feeling as if the world has forgotten him – or at the very least, his chief. Was there a wife at home – was there food of his liking in the flat? Was there food at all?

Each trapped in their own cages. How long would _they_ have lasted with the gypsies?

Erik seldom wonders how he survived his life. Even these last years, living beneath the Palais, he never reflected much on where his life took him. He just went with an odd sort of intuition. Step here, do not step there – acute senses helped, of course. Still, he never felt the need to be concerned about another being. The only time different was with Reza. And Nadir, to a lesser extent. He was his own man – their relationship never acknowledged the love they felt for one another – despite the ever-present mutual concern. Reza, however, held his heart and with that came responsibility.

" _Sip it slowly."_

" _Will it hurt me, Erik?"_

" _No, soon all the hurt will end."_

" _That will be good."_

" _For you, yes, that will be very good."_

He has to trust his instincts with this situation – old, hardened habits of survival. If he allows himself to think too much, all will be lost. Is that what happened with the Robert debacle? Although sleep was no longer the enemy it once way – there are still nights when he relives that moment over and over – each time, realizing it was chance – not fear of injury – that had him see the brink of death. Still, it came from relying on others to follow instructions.

Nadir almost caused him to be killed, by trying to prevent him from being killed. Irony again – so much irony. Were it not for Monique – poor abused girl – he would be a memory. Something that never before concerned him. Now there are people who will remember him.

 _Think of me, think of me fondly, when we say good-bye…_

 _Flowers fade,_

 _The fruits of summer fade,_

 _They have their seasons, so do we_

 _but please promise me, that sometimes_

 _you will think of me!_

He has no wish to be anyone's memory – not now.

Will this man also refuse to follow instructions? Will the officer?

What is the ruffian going to do with the itch driving him to move – to take some action – anything to break the monotony of waiting?

Erik wishes he knew when the other man was expected to arrive. Perhaps it did not matter. At first he supposed that if the relief was due soon, the rubbish would wait – but, then he might act just to prove his manhood. It has been days – days – of waiting. No one is there. They would have seen something.

 _Just go in. Get the damned papers and stop the hell of standing in a doorway._

The man of indeterminate age touches his ear and grins. With straightened shoulders, he tugs up his trousers, spits, then looking up and down the street crosses to Marie-Corrinne's building and enters.

Before long, the expected sound of a gunshot pierces the night – causing a minor, short-lived rumbling at the café. The patrons stop their talk and eating for a moment. When no further noise is heard to confirm the initial shot, they return to their conversations and dinner.

As Erik feared, the police officer, in his anxiety, overdid his duty. The man was to be taken alive, but too much waiting, too much time – Piaget likely shot to kill. Did he succeed? Perhaps not. Just stay where you are.

Up the street, Erik sees a figure approach – an odd match to Gilles…Marcus…Leon or whatever the name of the unfortunate creature, now possibly one with the Almighty. Not tall, slim –though oddly bulky around the waist. Movements are languid – graceful in his stride. Too much time has passed and fear of apprehension is gone – he could be out on a lark – no sense of watchfulness.

Erik's eyes brighten at this happy state of affairs. He may be incorrect in believing this is his prey, but the tingling running up his spine says otherwise.

Out the corner of his eye, he catches sight of the officer coming out of the building.

 _Fool. Go back._

Too late. The lithe young man turns abruptly and runs.

Moving slowly at first, lest he draw attention to himself, Erik keeps his eyes focused on the runner while moving through the shadows down the street. Softly lit with new electric lights, illumination more for mood than safety – they leave the doorways dark – allowing him cover.

The man mimics a spooked dog – bounding straight ahead. Fear, not stealth propels the escape. If met with an obstacle, it will turn right or left and run again in a straight line until the body fails and it falls. A man may gain presence of mind, stopping to allow the adrenaline to slow – the mind to think. For now the runner is a frightened pup.

Recollections of past days return to him. Chasing, robbing, often – quite often – too often – killing. The tedium of it – how could he remember it as exciting? Poor souls, racing for their lives when stopping might serve them better – handing over meager sums for their lives, although a few brought a better purse when dead. Was he really that empty then?

* * *

" _Krpya, sriman.* I am poor. I have nothing to give you." His hands fly up, covering his eyes from the sight before him – a boy with yellow eyes, who despite the turban knotted around his head, revealed half a face of mottled scars and distortions._

" _Sri Ajit says otherwise."_

 _The man's pallor, under other circumstances, reminiscent of café-au-lait, with rose-tinged cheeks, dulled now to the color of mud. His gaze shifted to the thuggee standing behind the monster. The Indian's visage might well be that of a statue – one of stunning beauty, an antithesis to that of his associate with the exception of their mutual contempt for his life._

" _Turn him around and use the lasso as you were taught," he commanded. "He lies about his poverty."_

" _No, I wish to see his life leave him."_

" _No, please, sriman," the merchant pleaded, pulling on a string in his dhoti, he withdrew a bag of gold coins – offering it to them. "Here, this is all I have."_

" _Too late, I fear," Erik responded, taking a step back to throw the lasso, smiling as he saw it glide perfectly over the man's head, settling on his shoulders. Tightening it slowly, he watched the struggle against the catgut, cutting his fingers, trying to prevent it cutting into his throat, to no avail – blood flowed from both. Tears filled eyes threatening to burst from his head, a red tongue poked through bloated lips. A gurgling sound escaped those same lips and the air was soon fouled with the odor of agonal urination and defecation. The body slumps to the ground – the only thing holding him up is Erik's grip on the garrote._

 _Satisfied that the man was dead, Erik shook him loose then removed the lasso from his neck. After wiping away the blood with a cloth, he wrapped the cord neatly into a loop and thrust it into his pocket along with the bag of gold._

" _Even the jamadar** prefers not to see the face of those he kills."_

" _I was curious as to how I looked, when garroted," Erik said._

" _The lasso was never so tight with you – you still have much to learn about how to guide the lasso. I think watching him die held more interest for you."_

" _Yes, I suppose that might be so - I wished to see his soul, if there is such a thing, leave the body."_

" _And did you?"_

" _No."_

* * *

After that, the faces blurred. He learned to control the lasso to the amazement of the thugs – often letting his victims go – practicing how much or how little to tighten the simple weapon. Still, he would continue to watch the death throes of the others – and he would be the last person…thing…monster they saw. In those last moments he was God or Allah or Buddha – having the power of life or death over them.

It seemed so long ago – in time and in feeling.

Soon enough, the youth stops running to vomit up his fear.

Erik watches him regain his bearings – sweat shimmers on the boy's forehead, reflecting the light of the streetlamp he clings to, gasping for air. Even that shows no thought – no concern that someone might be following him. The face is smooth with refined features – pale eyebrows, elegant nose, high cheekbones. Who are these murderers? Kidnappers? Likely not either. At least not this one. A mere child.

 _Caution, Erik, lest you become like those you scoff._

Regaining confidence, the street surveyed – believing himself safe, the boy proceeds with the earlier brisk saunter, finally slowing to glance around.

It takes a moment for Erik to realize that they are at the Maternite de Paris. Blending in with the shadows, pressing himself against the brick wall, he watches the figure enter the grounds through a small wrought iron gate.

Erik follows in time to see the cap removed, revealing a cascade of pale curls. A skirt is untucked from the breeches and the jacket straightened. The woman shoves the cloth cap into a pocket, before darting through a small courtyard to a door at the side of the building marked blanchisserie.***

* * *

Christine jumps up from the settee as the door to the Security office opens and Erik appears. "Oh, you are safe," she says, running to him, touching his face, his chest his arms before wrapping her arms around him, pressing herself as closely as possible to feel a part of him, whole again – tears flowing from her eyes.

His own embrace is as intense, but his words light. "I told you I would return for you to have an early bed time."

"Yes, you did," she says. "Come sit, you must be exhausted."

"Actually, he looks none the worse for wear," Nadir says. "If I were to guess, it appears that you might have actually taken a coach."

"Should I have arrived panting and sweating?" Erik retorts. "Stealth, my friend, stealth."

Nadir snorts.

"To be frank, I did return by carriage – my energy was truly expended with the chase, but did not affect me until it had ended."

"So where did this stealth take you?" Adele asks – bringing him a snifter holding two fingers of cognac.

Swirling the brandy, breathing in the scent of the liquor before taking a sip, Erik recalls the results of his search.

"Harrumph," Nadir says, falling against the back of his chair. "Well, this case is certainly bizarre."

"To put it mildly," Adele says.

"A girl – the kidnapper is a girl?"

"That, my dear, is something you must find out from Meybel tomorrow," Erik says. "Did she just assume that it was two men or are there more people involved in this than we suspected? I shall have Veronique make a drawing from my recollections."

"The first man…person – they could both have been women?" Nadir asks.

"I do not know. I had the coachman drive by Marie-Corrinne's flat – the police wagon was there. Marquand was not obviously visible, so I chose to return here. I must report to him first thing in the morning."

"I doubt that the kidnappers will make any more attempts to retrieve the papers."

"I am not a detective, but it seems like the maternity hospital is where focus must be placed," Christine says.

"Darius will be visiting there tomorrow, but I am not certain how much he can find out."

"Hopefully, Christine and Giselle will be able to prise more information from Meybel – conversations overheard – anything."

Erik stands and stretches. "I find that I am somewhat fatigued – the distance traveled did not seem so great at the time I was tracking – but rest would be good. And food."

" _You_ are hungry?" Nadir asks.

"He has developed quite an appetite," Christine says, preening.

"Food and sleep – you have become quite normal," Adele says. "The love of a good woman."

"We are all going to become fat and lazy if this love trend continues," Nadir says, laughing.

"I would not have it any other way," Erik says, pulling Christine to her feet. "Gather your things and we shall go home. Thank you, my friends, for being with her during my absence."

"Be certain she eats as well – she just picked at her supper," Adele says to their backs as they take their leave through the wall.

* * *

"No."

"Why not? It is perfect. I am perfect."

"You most certainly are perfect, but, no."

Having taken the pins from her hair, shaking it free, the chestnut curls fall over her shoulders. Her discarded dress lies on the vanity bench. Stopping her preparations for bed, she stands, hands on hips facing Erik down as he removes his trousers. "I will go there as Christine Daae, prima donna of the Palais Garnier, to do charity work."

"It is too dangerous," he says, turning away to hang the pants in the armoire. "I will not stand here, both of us in our undergarments, arguing about your foolhardy suggestion."

Strutting over to him, she presses her face against his back, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Then let us argue naked." Tugging on his drawers, she proceeds to yank them down to his knees.

"You are not going to seduce me into this, Christine, I mean it." He turns to her uplifted face, a playful moue accentuating her full lips, green eyes sparkling. "No." Using a foot, he finishes removing his underwear, picks them up and tosses them into the laundry basket along with his socks.

"Meg…or Giselle could come with me, if you like…although I would prefer Meg,…but since Darius is there as a detective that might not be wise. Anyway, we would represent the ballet – the theater." Standing on her tiptoes, she kisses his neck, nuzzling his ear, biting the lobe.

"It is insane."

"It is not and you know it." She draws back, pulling her chemise over her head, before removing her own drawers – flinging both garments to join her dress. Small graceful hands glide down over her breasts and hips. Her pink tongue licks rosebud lips. "Please."

"Oh, God," Erik groans.

Her fingers walk up his chest to his face, pulling him into a kiss, her tongue teases his mouth.

"You are a devil," he says, sighing deeply as he lifts her, carrying her to the bed he turned down earlier.

"No more _Angel_?"

"Lucifer was an angel, too." Laying her down on the bed, he removes his shirt and joins her, pulling the feather duvet over them.

"So, I can do it?" she asks, rolling on top of him.

"Perhaps."

"Erik!" She slaps him on the chest.

"Perhaps – that is the best you are going to get until I can think about it further…and discuss it with Inspector Marquand," he laughs.

"All right," she pouts. "I will settle for 'perhaps' – for now."

Gathering her to him, kissing her neck, breathing in her scent of gardenias and musk, he says, "I love you, Christine. This night only proved how much you mean to me – how your love has changed me."

"The skulking was no longer thrilling?"

"I do not believe it ever was – planning and scheming will always be fascinating, but the cache-cache*** was tedious and, ultimately exhausting. Worse were the memories evoked."

The caress to his damaged cheek is gentle. "I know you will not believe this, but my feelings are the same. You have given me a voice – not just to sing, but to be heard as a person – even though it frightens you sometimes," she chortles.

"Perhaps it is not so terrible that, even though the Angel of Music was illusory, I am still not entirely of this world," he says.

"No, it is not," she says, snuggling deeper under the blankets, pressing herself to him. "As you said, Lucifer was also an angel."

* * *

Erik and Christine greet Officer Fremed at the stage door in the alley behind the Opera Ho. Garbed in one of her old, twice- turned dresses of olive green with a gray capelet – hair knotted into a chignon, a plain gray wool bonnet tied under her chin – Christine holds his card and the one Marquand gave her the night before.

She hands the cards to Erik, imposing as always in his black frock coat and gambler's hat. He grunts his satisfaction, tucking both cards into the pocket of his waistcoat, taking a moment to check his watch, eyeing the alley.

The policeman shifts his bulky weight from one foot to the other, hands folded behind his back, not looking directly at Erik.

"Are you quite all right, Officer?" Christine asks.

"I am fine, Madame." A brief smile flashes across his round face, before quickly returning to his blank gaze.

"You do not look fine," Erik says. "Perhaps some water or coffee - while we await the arrival of Mlle. Dupree."

"No, thank you, Monsieur." Risking a direct look at Erik, he straightens up, unable to hold the gaze, the hazel eyes shift back and forth. "I was with the patrol that hunted you that night," he blurts out. "I was concerned that you recognized me just now."

Erik sizes him up, taking in the man's youth and the flush that colors his plump cheeks. "But it was obvious I did not – why say anything?"

He shrugs. "I thought you should know – maybe you would not want me taking care of your lady."

"I think you will be just fine taking care of my lady and…here she is now…Mlle. Dupree," Erik says, waving at Giselle who pushes past a stage hand as she makes her toward them. Turning back to Fremed, he says, "May I ask where the Inspector is at the moment – I have news to impart."

"He is at the station – there was an…occurrence last night," Fremed tells him.

Giselle reaches the trio, dressed in her drab brown skirt and jacket, trying to contain her straight locks into the second of two braids as she runs. "I overslept – I am so sorry, this is not my habit."

Christine raises an eyebrow.

"Veronique and I celebrated a bit after our meeting yesterday with some champagne," she says, head down, tying a bit of cloth around her completed plaiting.

"Do you feel up to conducting the interview?" Erik asks. "If you are indisposed…"

"Oh, that is so kind of you, M. Erik," she says, touching his arm.

Shoulders tighten as he steps away, disconnecting himself from her.

Taking her hand back, she rubs one against the other. "I appreciate your concern, but…"

"I am certain that Giselle will be just fine," Christine says, cocking her head, the glimmer of a smile on her lips. "There is nothing wrong with having a small celebration upon receiving good news."

Giselle looks over to Christine, acknowledging her with a nod. "Thank you." Turning to the officer, she asks, "Is this Officer Fremed?"

"It is, mademoiselle – shall we go – the Inspector is anxious to have any new information about the events at Mlle. Arnault's apartment."

Erik kisses Christine's hand. "I shall see you here later, unless you would rather meet at home."

"No, this would be best. I should like to speak to Adele about some ideas I have for the review – the use of dance – what we discussed earlier." Tip-toeing, she kisses him on the cheek.

"Very well. Ladies, good luck with your interrogation. I wish I could participate or, at very least, listen in."

"Perhaps Comte Phillippe will allow you to build some secret passages into his mansion – could prove to be quite amusing for them," Christine says, casting a side-eye at Giselle.

Officer Fremed clears his throat.

"Best be gone." Erik stands away from the coach. "Oh, wait… moment…Giselle – something I must ask."

"Yes, M. Erik." A bright grin breaks across her face. "What is it?"

"Is Veronique here – I have a small project for her?"

"Veronique? Yes, she entered through the front. She is in her office, bright and cheerful as usual, nothing fazes her."

"Good. Good," he says. "Take care of the ladies, Fremed, they are very precious to many people."

"Indeed, monsieur." Officer Fremed ushers the women into the coach and climbs up to sit with the driver.

With wool blankets wrapped around them, including the covering of their heads, the two women struggle to find comfort on the floor of the coach.

"Had I known how rough this would be on our bottoms, I would have brought some pillows," Christine says. "There is something to be said for bustles."

Giselle laughs. "You are always so kind. How is that possible?"

"Do you mean to you – or in a general sense?"

Giselle's head jerks back. "I suppose I deserve that. You have been nothing but generous to me since the moment we met – even giving me a dress I saw that you loved. Your gowns are always so lovely, did you borrow the dress you are wearing?"

"No. It is mine, as are the boots and the hat."

"Oh." Giselle's brow furrows.

"Who do you think I am? You questioned the story you were told, as if Adele and I were lying. Now this silliness about my garments."

"Whatever it was, I see that I was wrong."

"Excuse me?"

"I believed you to be a vapid, spoiled and silly girl – talented and pretty, able to even attract nobility with your voice – always having a man around to take care of you."

"All that? Is that the gossip that was tossed around about me? I find that difficult to believe."

Giselle looks away.

"Most of what _I_ heard was how I was a stupid Swede, who cried all the time, was often found singing to herself and speaking of angels." Shifting her position to better see Giselle, she continues, "I suppose there is an element of truth to your version – the men in my life have been very supportive of me. My pappa was a street violinist, we were poor, but he did everything for me. He taught me to love music - would have been so proud to hear me sing at the Palais Garnier. Raoul and I were childhood friends."

"M. Erik?"

"My husband was the angel – the person I sang for," she responds. Taking a moment to adjust the blanket. "This is hopeless," she says, leaning against the bench. "I take it you have not be so blessed?"

"I have. Actually, I have." Eyes well up with tears as she tells Christine about her mother's dreams and her failed dancing career, but how her father taught her a craft – how she learned to fight with boys. " _My_ father would be proud to see my designs used in a performance at the Palais Garnier. Finding a husband like yours is another story, though."

"He would surprised to hear you say that."

"Why? He is wonderf…" Giselle muffles the end of the sentence, her face flushed.

"Yes – he is…and he will be a great pappa, too." Christine's eyes narrow, her smile fades. Taking a deep breath, she says, "This conversation is ridiculous. Are you so witless – do you not see Erik is not available to you?"

"What – I am not…"

"You most certainly are. You _are_ that foolish," Christine says. "All those bits of chatter you claimed to hear are _your_ fantasies – I know quite well what the gossip was about me – worse than any whore. Erik gave me a ring to wear to stop the vicious lies." Her eyes blaze at the woman seated across from her. "Do you suppose imagining me to be a twit will endear you to him?"

"No, truly – he has been kind to me – given me opportunities – I am grateful. That is all." Giselle pleads. "Do I wish he were free? Yes. Perhaps I did imagine…wish he was trapped by a greedy little prig. That my being different would be attractive to him."

"He does find you attractive – your talent, your skills."

"There you go being kind again. I want to hate you."

"Why? That truly is foolish and will gain you nothing."

"Most men find me odd and unlovely because I am not ladylike." Her head lowers.

"And why do women dislike you? Is it because you disrespect them?" Christine pushes back the blanket, folding her arms.

Giselle snaps her head up, glaring at Christine. "That is not true."

"It is true. I have observed you with Meg and Veronique – your snide remark this morning is an example. Pushing her work out of the way to show yours. I have certainly experienced your behavior toward my husband."

Giselle purses her lips, giving her head a firm shake. "I am not like that."

"Concentrate on Comte Phillippe…he is available and he is attracted to you – as a woman with all those oddities you so admire about yourself."

"I do not wish to be kept," Giselle grumbles.

"It does not have to be so." Christine's tone softens. "Raoul was never attached to the nobility business – Phillippe, as head of the family was, but he has changed. I see it in his manner."

"I am not so sure." Giselle says, folding her arms around bent legs, resting her chin on her knees. "But he has been very charming and I do like him very much."

"Give it time – things can change. People change – this I know." Pausing a moment, biting her lip, she adds, "I also know that if you continue to be a bitch, all the doors you have opened for yourself will close."

Giselle raises her head, turning sharply to meet Christine's green eyes and somber face.

The sound of the horses hooves on the pavement are the only sound inside the coach.

"I do not wish to quarrel with you – you are valuable to us – all of us." Christine holds out her hand.

Giselle hesitates a moment, then takes it.

"Good. You must teach me fisticuffs." Christine shifts her position, yet again, attempting to straighten her legs. "I suggest lying on the seats for the return trip, this is entirely too uncomfortable."

"Perhaps we could have classes after ballet. The girls could certainly use some skills to fight off the patrons if necessary," Giselle says.

The carriage comes to a brief stop, then proceeds again into the rear courtyard of the Chagny house.

"Well, here we are. I do hope we can learn something helpful from Meybel."

* * *

Marquand looks up from his desk when Erik appears in the doorway of his small office. Darius rises, from his seat "M. Erik, good morning. I was receiving instructions from the Inspector before my visit to the Maternite hospital."

"M. Saint-Rien, I am pleased that you are here," Marquand say. "Sit, both of you." He waves his unlit cigar at them, taking a gulp from his mug. "Coffee? Tea?"

"No, Inspector, thank you – go ahead if you like, Darius."

"I am fine."

"Darius' fine efforts have reaped nothing. Unfortunately, none of the doctors on our list knew or met with Dr. Perdue," he tells Erik.

"How does one let space without knowing who will be using that space?"

"No money was exchanged – it was all charitable – women of poverty needing care."

"All the arrangements were made through a contact at the Maternite hospital," Darius offers. "Seems one doctor told the next and no formal arrangements were ever made. Each doctor allocated one day a week and a key was left for Perdue in a safe place."

"That is insane," Erik says.

"People like to feel good about themselves. In fairness, all the doctors put in their time working at the hospital, but in general, they were now building their own careers."

"So who was the initial contact?"

"No one remembers," Darius says.

Belching, then excusing himself, Marquand asks, "Might you have anything to brighten my day?"

"Perhaps." Erik crosses his legs. "The shooting last night."

"Ah, you were there?"

Erik nods. "I took the opportunity for my own stake-out – hoping to follow one of the kidnappers when they changed shifts."

"And I assume you were successful."

"Yes – before I go on, though – what was the person like? The one who was shot…killed?"

"Survived, thankfully. Piaget was taken by surprise when the man let himself into the apartment, too much ennui, I fear. Apparently they had a key. He is, perhaps, twenty-five years," Marquand says, flipping through his notepad, "Marcelle Gabreau. Laborer at the Maternite de Paris.

"So – a man?"

"Of course, a _man_ – why would you think otherwise?"

Darius quirks an eyebrow.

Erik tells of the chase that ended at the Maternite hospital. Pulling Veronique's sketch from his pocket, he tosses it on Marquand's desk.

"Fascinating. I take it Mme. Saint-Rien is aware of this – to assess whether Meybel heard two men or a man and a woman?"

Erik nods.

"Does the other woman know?"

"No."

"Any reason why not – she is your employee?"

"There was no time - Giselle was late and I left it to Christine to give her any updates. Whether she does, well…Christine does not appear to trust her. As yet I do not know why, but until she tells me…" Erik shrugs.

"My wife is the same – they just _know_ things."

"Hmmm – yes, intuition."

"Her dislike of Giselle is personal, M. Erik," Darius says. "May I see the drawing?"

"Of course," Marquand pushes it toward the young man.

Darius picks up the sketch, examining it closely. "Mme. Dupree is truly gifted," he comments. "This is Nicole – one of the ballet girls."

"So there is some sort of connection to the Palais," Marquand muses.

"The dancers would naturally seek out medical care for female concerns, especially if they became with child – that the crime is related to the Opera House does not necessarily follow," Darius says, handing the drawing back to Marquand.

"Another suggestion Christine made would be for her to visit the hospital under the guise of charity – I thought Dr. Gerard might introduce her." Looking at Darius, Erik says, "She also suggested Meg, rather than Giselle, accompany her."

"My Meg does not hold her tongue very well, I fear, but if Nicole is involved, she may actually be a good choice?"

"Why not Giselle – you have liked working with her and trust her – unlike my wife."

"A bit of jealousy?" Marquand suggests, chuckling.

"I am sure it is nothing of the kind," Erik says, his ears turning pink.

"My reason for believing Giselle would not be a good choice has to do with Nicole knowing she works for Security – it has nothing to do with personalities," Darius says.

"Whichever woman you choose to assist her, I like the idea of Mme. Saint-Rien visiting the hospital – perhaps meeting some of the staff, mainly the mid-wives, but also those in the laundry," Marquand says.

Standing up, Erik says, "I believe that covers what I wanted to tell you."

Marquand rises as well, offering his hand to both Erik and Darius. "You and your firm are being most helpful with this case."

"I shall be in touch." Placing his hand on Darius' shoulder as they leave Marquand's office, he says, "Jealous?"

"Not M. Christine – Giselle," he says. "M. Christine does not like Giselle hanging around you, so she is peeved about that. Her real concern is Giselle being jealous of others and being unkind about them behind their backs."

"I did not know," Erik says. "I suppose this are things you learned guarding the harem."

"Yes, Monsieur. The Palais is not the Palace, but the intrigue is much the same."

"You will keep me apprised if there is anything I need to address – as an employer?"

"Yes, monsieur – M. Khan, as well?

"Yes, both of us – always both of us."

Darius smiles.

* * *

Officer Fremed assists Christine from the carriage, taking the blanket from her – folding it over his arm – and walks her to the stage door.

"Thank you, Officer – you will tell the Inspector what we discovered in our interview?"

"Yes, Madame, I am sure he will find the information useful."

"What information might that be?" Erik asks as he walks through the opening door, stepping onto the cobblestones to greet them.

"Have no worries, I shall fill you in," she says, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Officer Fremed tips his hat, returning to the coach and his seat next to the driver.

Christine gives a final wave as the coach pulls away from them, then takes Erik's arm. "Did you speak to the Inspector about my visiting the Maternite hospital?"

"I suspect we can have _that_ discussion at the same time you inform me about Meybel." He holds the door for her, then closes it behind them.

Chuckling, she replies, "Shall we go home then – to have our exchange of information?"

The backstage area is quiet, most of the workers taking their dinner break. Erik stops. "Do you still wish to speak with Adele?"

"No, I am tired – sitting on the floor of a coach is quite uncomfortable. My bottom is quite sore."

"You are not injured," he asks. "Do you wish me to carry you?"

"No, my darling, I simply wish for a hot bath and some dinner, followed by a cup of tea while sitting on my nice, soft sofa with you."

Guiding her to the dressing room, he stops again. "Where is Giselle? You did not do away with her, did you?"

"What? Why would I…oh, you noticed my displeasure with her earlier." With a wave of her hand, she says, "That is all settled."

"What is all settled?"

"My displeasure – there is nothing for you to be concerned about." Continuing their trek down the hall, she says, "Comte Phillippe happened by the kitchen as we were leaving, he had spoken to La Sorelli and gave us some information…"

"Which was?"

"Later – when we are rested and can share…" Removing the key from her reticule, she unlocks the door for them to enter.

"You are being stubborn." He grabs her around the waist, kissing her neck.

"You would know," she says, turning in his arms, lifting her head to kiss his chin, his cheek, finishing with a light peck on his mouth. "He invited her to dine with him."

"Indeed." Checking the hallway door to be certain it is locked, Erik opens the mirror door to the tunnels.

"Yes. I think they make a lovely couple. I told her as much." Christine passes through the door, Erik following.

"Did you now?"

"Yes – why would I not?"

"Your displeasure," he smirks, picking up a lantern and lighting it.

Her eyes narrow, meeting his smirk with her own. "I told you it was settled."

He chuckles. "If you say so."

* * *

* Please, mister

**Leader

***Laundry

****Hide and Seek


	12. Disguises

DISGUISES

Erik places another log on the blaze, stoking the flames with a poker. Satisfied the fire will bring enough warmth to the room, he places the carved walnut tapestry fire screen on the hearth. He has changed into his burgandy velvet jacket and exchanged black boots for the embroidered house slippers he favors.

The scent of jasmine precedes Christine's entrance to the sitting room.

"No more gardenia?" Erik asks, turning to watch her walk across the room to the settee. "Is that one of the negligees I purchased?

Stopping to face him, she asks, "You do not recall?" The royal blue satin of the nightgown hugs her figure, a diamond inlay of emerald green lace accentuates her cleavage. The chiffon robe is a kaleidoscope of varying shades of blues and greens. Taking up an edge of the peignoir in one hand, holding the towel wrapped around her hair with the other, she twirls, the fabric floating around her.

"There were so many – it is gorgeous – you are gorgeous. The colors suit you so well," he says. "I do have impeccable taste." Walking toward her, holding his arms out.

"Actually, I purchased this when we went shopping for my baby garments," she says, dodging away from him.

"Aha," he chuckles, halting his pursuit. "Then, I must say you, too, have impeccable taste." Altering his course to the kitchen, he says, "I have prepared tea and a cold dinner. Would you care to eat now – or do you wish for me to comb your hair?"

"Such temptations," she teases, her cheeks still flushed pink from the hot bath.

"Well, you deflected my attempt to embrace you, so I believe you to be either hungry or tired of wearing the turban." He cocks his head, and quirks an eyebrow. "I choose not to think you are annoyed with me for some inexplicable reason since you are dressed to tantalize me."

"May I drink my tea and eat while you comb my hair?"

"Whatever my lady wishes. I am at your command."

"Then tell me what happened today," she says.

"Oh, that." He leaves the sitting room to retrieve a tray carrying the tea service and a plate of sandwiches cut in quarters, some cut apples, grapes and strawberries. "Roast beef, cheese, some chicken and herring, of course," he says, putting the tray on the coffee table. "Sit down and I shall serve you."

Pouting, she settles onto the sofa, removing the towel from her head, shaking her hair loose as he takes the damp cloth from her, draping it over his arm. Holding up her hand, stopping him from preparing her plate, she picks up one of the sandwich quarters – beef - eating it in two bites. Then a cheese, then a chicken. With the fourth, she removes the bread and eats only the herring. "Herring is not very good with bread."

Folding the towel, he lays it on the edge of the table. "I am not certain herring is good with anything… except kisses."

"Ha. Ha." She finishes a strawberry, blotting her lips with a napkin, and takes up a cup of tea, sitting back. "Are you not the least bit curious?" she asks as he lays a dry towel over the back of the settee, draping her hair over it and begins detangling her hair with a wide-toothed comb.

"I am always interested in what you have to tell me, my dear," he says. "For example, I do like the new cream I created for use after shampooing. Do you find styling easier now that you have been using it?"

"Yes. I love it," she growls. "I love everything you do. You are the most wonderful man in the world, and you are _my_ man, which is why I told _Mademoiselle_ Giselle Beauchamp to mind her manners when you are around and to, by the way, not be rude and officious to the other women we care about."

"Did you now?"

"Yes, I did. She was treating me as though I was some fortune-hunting harpy with only a pretty face and voice to recommend me. And you? Well, you were tricked into marrying me. I tricked Raoul as well." The flush of her cheeks deepens to rose. "She has also been making rude comments about dear, sweet Veronique – who took her in – and brought her own art work to push Veronique's drawings aside."

"She sounds quite the horrible person." His progress with her hair is slow, but steady, taking his time to stretch each section of hair, combing it through, applying a dab of pomade before turning each straightened tress into a thick lock.

"Well, she is not entirely horrible. Her sketches are well-drawn and her ideas for the staging very clever. I cannot forget that she was there when you were in danger and was ready to risk herself to help you."

"That is all true, but something truly bothered you about her – enough to say something to her."

"Yes – all the things I said. I confronted her. She told me that she was grateful to you and thought you were wonderful."

"That angered you?"

"Erik, a woman knows when another woman is…interested in a man – her man."

"The way Adele was in love with me?"

"She was – thankfully she loves Nadir more."

Erik smirks.

"Do not laugh at me."

"What woman besides my adorable angel would want this wreck of a man?" he asks.

"You are not a wreck and that is not the point. There is something about her that undermines people – makes them feel small – in the way she talks or looks at you." She shakes her head. "I told her that it must stop."

"And what did she say?"

"That she was sorry – I doubt she has any idea of what I was talking about – nor do you, it would seem. I hope she follows through with Phillippe – he has a high enough position that if there is such a thing as fate, she will experience what she puts others through."

"So you are no longer angry with her?"

"I will keep my eyes open."

"Do you suppose that she is angry with you?"

"I do not know. Possibly. I do not care – it needed to be said." She turns around to glare at him.

"That took courage if you believe her to be so sly," he says. "If it is any consolation, Darius said the same thing."

"He did?"

"He did."

"Hmmph."

"Do you wish for me to let her go?"

"No. Would you? No. She is very talented – and useful. She was actually very good with Meybel. We all came from poor beginnings, so no one was uncomfortable."

"Having life experiences in common does make for easier communication." Taking her shoulders, he turns her back around, and continues combing her hair.

"That is so true, our conversation was very easy."

* * *

" _Mademois…Madame Christine, it is so good to see you again," Meybel said, running to her, pulling her into an embrace. Standing back to look at her faded dress, she frowned. "I thought you were now wealthy – married – a Prima Donna…"_

 _Christine laughed. "This is one of my old dresses, Meybel, you knew all three of them. My life is much different now and I have some lovely dresses."_

" _Better than the Vicomte purchased for you? You left them all behind – did you not like them?"_

" _Not better, just different. It was best that I not take them with me. I was marrying someone else."_

" _Still, they were very pretty."_

" _Indeed they were," Christine said. Taking Giselle's hand, bringing her forward from where she stood waiting next to the door. "This is my friend, Giselle, Meybel. She is a friend of Comte Phillippe and works for my husband."_

" _You work for the police?"_

" _I work for Phantom Security – we are private investigators."_

" _That is so exciting."_

" _May we ask you some questions?" Giselle asked, nodding to include Christine._

" _Yes, please. I am so happy that I can speak with you both. The policemen, though kind, were scary to me."_

 _Giselle offered as small smile. "We know what you told the police, but wondered if, now that you felt safe in your home, you might have remembered something else."_

" _Like what?"_

" _Like, recognizing the voices – if there was anything odd or different about them." Christine said._

 _Giselle glanced at Christine with raised eyebrows._

" _You mean like talking French with a different accent, like yours?"_

 _Christine smiles. "Yes – or was one voice softer or sounded like an older person?"_

 _Meybel scrunched her nose, closing her eyes. "Madame Laurence's voice is deep – almost like a man. She is really gruff and sounds angry all the time."_

" _Yes?"_

" _One of the men was always in a hurry. He talked like the workmen that come to fix things – go here, look there, do this."_

" _The last person?"_

" _She…"_

" _She?"_

" _Yes. Just now when I was thinking about them talking and such, it struck me that the other person was a girl," Meybel said. "The voice was soft – the questions quiet, not bossy." She frowned. "Why would a girl want to hurt Mlle. Marie-Corrinne?"_

" _I do not know, Meybel."_

" _Can you remember anything else Mlle. Arnault might have said or how she behaved?" Giselle asked._

 _Meybel shook her head, then brightened, "Oh, my gracious."_

" _What?" Christine and Giselle said in tandem._

" _A locket – she had a locket with a picture in it. She left it on the counter in the bathroom one day and I found it and gave it to her."_

" _What did she say?"_

" _Nothing – just snatched it from my hand and put it in her pocket."_

" _Did you see it again?"_

" _Yes, the day she was taken. I saw her yank it off. She took it to the fireplace and it looked like she was going to throw it there, instead she put it into a small casket that sits on the mantel."_

* * *

"That was a very productive interview, I would say."

"I understand why you are the detective and I am the singer," Christine says. "You tricked me."

"I simply took advantage of the time I have spent alone – keeping things to myself was not a choice – it was my life," Erik says, curling the last section of hair and laying it against the others. Removing two tortoiseshell combs from his pocket, he tucks one on each side, pulling the hair away from her face. "You, on the other hand, are a social creature. You are used to conversing."

"Comte Phillippe also shared some information he received from La Sorelli."

"What was that?"

"Nicole – one of the ballet girls – may be the contact the girls use to find doctors to help when they become pregnant or just for personal needs. We could ask Monique if Nicole is the person she confided in after escaping M. Robert."

Erik folds the towel and places it on the table, on top of the other damp towel. He sits down next to Christine and picks up a sandwich for himself. "That confirms she was the girl I followed last night."

"Veronique did a sketch?"

"Yes – Damian identified her as Nicole from the drawing. The Inspector will be pleased at the confirmation as well as the information about the locket."

"What about the man – at Marie-Corrinne's apartment?" Her eyes large, lips pursed.

"Alive – wounded, but alive."

Christine sighs. "No more deaths, thank God."

"Hopefully, he will tell the police something useful."

Tugging on his arm. "You must tell me – what did the Inspector say about my visiting the Maternite hospital?"

Unable to suppress a grin, he says, "He agrees with you."

Christine whoops and throws her arms around his neck. "I knew he would."

"Calm down," he laughs. "We also think that Meg would be the appropriate person to accompany you, along with Dr. Gerard."

"Really? Why not Giselle?"

"Now you want Giselle?

"I did not say that – I wondered why he – you would not prefer her."

"Damian felt Nicole would be suspicious because Giselle works for the security company. He wants us to continue to observe her," he says. "Meg is your best friend, so it was a more realistic choice."

"Oh, I'm so excited," Christine says, picking up a macaron, taking a bite with gusto. "You really are a terrible man for not telling me sooner."

"Christine, this is not a lark – women have died and we do not know why or who actually caused their deaths. I still believe the earlier ones may have been accidental – Marie-Corrinne, I am not certain about."

"I am sorry. I just want to help."

Pulling her toward him, he kisses her forehead. "You have already helped. Nadir must be apprised of all that has happened.

"Tomorrow. For now, though, let us enjoy our peace and the rest of our dinner," she says. "Thank you for dealing with my mop of hair."

"My pleasure."

* * *

"You want me to help with the investigation?" Meg gasps. "Me?" She shifts from sitting to kneeling on the green sofa, pounding Darius on the shoulders. "That is so exciting. What do I have to do? Who will be with me? This is so exciting."

"Yes to your first question," Darius says. "Christine and Dr. Gerard will be with you. You are to accompany them to the Maternite hospital and visit with some of the employees there to discover who this Dr. Perdue is."

"Dr. Perdue?" Sitting back on her heels, she arranges the rose taffeta skirt around her, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder.

"Yes, he is the doctor we are looking for," Darius says, straightening his olive green Persian frock coat before checking to be certain his astrakhan hat is situated properly.

"Why not just ask Nicole? She knows him – I heard her mention his name. When a girl thinks she is with child, she sees Nicole and she helps them."

Darius' face is flat, absent of emotion.

Her earlier brightness fades, she grabs his arm. "Oh, no. You do not think she hurt anyone?

"Did she help Monique?"

"Monique stayed with her when she first…returned – before moving here with us."

"Why did neither of you say anything to me when we visited the Monseigneur?"

"You never said anything about Nicole or Dr. Perdue."

* * *

"You need to take a rest from looking at all those papers, Nadir," Adele tells him, rubbing his shoulders, kneading out the knots seeming to multiply daily.

"The medical reports only show what the doctor considers normal Caesarian deliveries – perfect execution, but why did they die?"

"Anesthesia?"

"Most likely, but why these?" He pushes the papers away. "Why would Mademoiselle X die, but not Madame A? Problem is we have no Mademoiselle X or Madame A to compare."

"What if Dr. Perdue did not do the surgeries on the women who died?" Erik says as he walks through the secret door, removing his hat and cape, tossing them on the file cabinet behind his desk.

Nadir and Adele start at the words and the entry of Erik and Christine.

"Why did you not announce yourself?" Nadir complains.

"You were upset the last time I whispered in your ear – there is no pleasing you, Daroga," Erik says after getting Christine situated on the sofa closest to his side of the partners' desk. He returns to the bookcase, stumbling on the carpet. "Has this always been there?"

"What?" Nadir asks, looking up at Erik, who is holding onto the edge of the armoire.

"That rag on the floor – I just tripped on it." Straightening up, he says, "Tea, Christine? Be wary of the carpeting, it is acting up today."

"Yes, please," she says. "Good morning, M. Khan – Madame."

"That rag, as you call it, was specifically ordered by you to be placed in that exact location," Nadir grumbles. "Would it not be easier to come through the front door, then traipsing up the tunnels?"

"Have you not been outside? It is raining – not much, but why not avoid getting wet, if possible."

"You two are looking chipper, at least you were," Adele says, pulling the guest chair around to sit beside Nadir. "What are you up to?"

"Inspector Marquand wants us to continue observing Nicole," Erik says, taking his seat at the desk, banging his knee. He twist his body to align the chair with the kneehole to accommodate his legs. "Is everything out of place today?"

"He has approved my visiting the Maternite hospital with Dr. Gerard and Meg," exclaims Christine.

"Meg?" Adele exclaims.

A knock on the door announces Darius and Meg's entry.

"You were speaking of me, Maman?" The tiny blonde dancer asks – a broad smile on her face as she removes her damp burgundy cloak – hanging it on the coat rack.

Darius follows suit with his black cape, removing his hat only long enough to shake the moisture off.

"You are going to investigate the Maternite hospital?" Adele continues.

Nadir falls back in his chair. "Now I have heard everything. Darius, were you aware of this?"

"It was partly my idea, monsieur."

"What?"

"Since Nicole is the person M. Saint-Rien was following – it seemed best not to utilize Giselle. Nicole knows that she works for Phantom Security," Darius says.

"Tell them about Nicole and Dr. Perdue," Meg says, flopping on the settee next to Christine, taking her friend's hand. "This will be such fun."

"All the girls know about Dr. Perdue – Nicole takes them to him when they are in trouble or having… woman problems," Darius says.

"There was no reason to suspect that anyone here at the Opera House would know of Dr. Perdue – Marie-Corrinne worked at Comedie Francaise," Erik says. "We only discovered Nicole's complicity when I followed her and Veronique was able to draw her portrait."

"True enough," Nadir says.

"Monique lived with Nicole for a while," Meg says.

"Now that is news," Adele says. "I do remember her speaking of a friend who took her in."

"Is Monique here, do you know?" Erik asks.

"She left early this morning, just after you, Maman. She has been coming here to dance most days," Meg says. "Raoul is usually here with her, sitting and watching while she dances. It is kind of creepy and sad at the same time."

"Finding out Nicole's connection was the part of the puzzle we were missing." Erik says.

"Still, how did Marie-Corrinne find out about this doctor?" Nadir asks.

"If he had a connection here – why not at the Comedie Francaise?" Erik responds.

"I still say he sounds like a good man," Christine says. "The idea that he is a murderer just does not sit right with me. The same with Nicole."

"Nicole helped kidnap Marie-Corrinne. However helpful she may have been to her at one time, or to others, the woman was taken by force and wound up dead." Nadir replies.

"Perdue is missing and Nicole is likely hiding somewhere in the bowels of the Maternite hospital," Erik says.

"No, she is not – she has been coming to rehearsal – a bit tired, but here," Adele says.

"There is no reason for her to believe she was followed," Nadir adds. "Did you just not say Marquand wants her observed? That means the police will not alert her."

"I shall bring Monique and Raoul here, if he is with her." She stops on the way to the door. "I do not suppose there has been any word of the baby."

"No," Erik says. "Hopefully the man taken into custody will be able to provide some information."

"He is not dead?" Nadir exclaims. "Why did you not say so?"

"Erik was interrupted by his wife and then my daughter – calm down, dear one."

"Finally something more to go on besides papers." He pushes the stacks aside, rubbing his eyes, "I am so weary of papers."

"Marie-Corrinne also had a locket – hopefully with a photograph inside," Christine says.

"Let us hope since one of theirs has been taken, they will make some sort of move."

Adele opens the door to the hallway. "I shall fetch Monique and Raoul. It will be good to be able to give him some encouraging news."

* * *

 _La petite poule grise_

 _Quallait pondre dans l'église_

 _Pondait un petite coco_

 _Que l'enfant mangeait tout chaud_

 _Létait une petite poul noir_

 _Quallait pondre dans l'armoire_

 _Pondait un petite coco_

 _Que l'enfant mangeait tout chaud_

 _Létait une petite poul blanche_

 _Quallait pondre dans la grange_

 _Pondait un petite coco_

 _Que l'enfant mangeait tout chaud_

 _Létait une petite poul rousse_

 _Quallait pondre dans la mousse_

 _Pondait un petite coco_

 _Que l'enfant mangeait tout chaud_

 _Létait une petite poule brune_

 _Quallait pondre sur la lune_

 _Pondait un petite coco_

 _Que l'enfant mangeait tout chaud_

Nicole places the infant back in his cradle, tucking a soft blue blanket around the swaddling. With a fingertip, she smooths wisps of pale hair, smiling down on the long lashes that dust his pink cheeks.

Still humming the lullaby, she joins the nourrice at the plain wooden table. Wrapping her light brown hair around her hand, she pins it into a loose chignon at the nape of her neck. Hazel eyes, matching her hair, are shadowed, her face wan.

The bedroom is modest, but appointed well for the comfort of the wet nurse. Several floral prints decorate the pale green walls. A double bed, with ample pillows and blankets, an armchair with stool for nursing duties and to read when the baby sleeps. A draped window looks out over one of the many small courtyards that grace the multiple the buildings that make up the Maternite hospital.

"You should eat something," the wet nurse says, pushing the plate of croissants and cheese toward her. "It is foolish to starve for your art."

"I have no appetite."

"Eat anyway." Taking her own advice, the heavy-set woman, the bodice of her gray dress still undone, revealing a plain white cotton camisole, tears off a piece of the pastry and bites into it.

"He is filling out," Nicole says.

"I make good milk."

"We are fortunate to have you." The food entices her and she makes herself a sandwich, chewing slowly.

"Will the new parents keep me on, do you think?"

"I see no reason why not. As you say – you make good milk," Nicole says, looking back at the slumbering child.

"Hold him – he loves that."

"I would wake him."

"Hold him – _you_ love that – he will go back to sleep. Eat, sleep, dirty his diapers. He is a good boy, does not cry much."

Finishing her food, she takes a sip of her tea, then returns to the cradle, nuzzling his neck, she whispers, "I must get you home to your papa, he loves you so. I do not know how as yet."

"Nicole, so this is where you got to," Madame Laurence says, entering the bedroom. The woolen navy blue cloak is buttoned to her chin, a glimpse of a white scarf visible beneath the collar. The cape and her hair are dusted with moisture. "Good morning, nurse. Is everything satisfactory?"

"Yes…well, perhaps some sweets."

"No chocolate, I am afraid."

"Yes, I know, runny stool – perhaps some butterscotch?"

"I believe that can be arranged."

"Would you like some tea?" Nicole asks, turning away from the cradle, returning to her place at the table. "Raining?"

"Just a heavy mist - tea would be pleasant," she says, removing the cloak, revealing a starched cotton blouse and navy gabardine skirt. After taking it to the small bathroom to shake off the water, she hangs it and her plain woolen bonnet on a rack near the door.

"Is there word of Marcelle?"

Mme. Laurence cocking her head toward the nurse, she says, "Come let us walk."

The two women leave the room, entering a long passageway, lined with wooden doors, each labeled with a letter and number.

"He is alive – foolish boy."

"He was getting bored waiting with nothing happening," Nicole says, leaning against the wall, head down, hands tucked in the pockets of the striped pinafore covering her blue cambric dress.

"Well, something certainly did happen. He is fortunate to be alive."

"What are we going to do?" she asks, toeing the floor, stirring up the light coating of dust accumulated on the surface. "This needs mopping."

"I must think on it. We are safe here for now." Lifting the girl's chin with a finger, she says, "You look so tired. Did you get any sleep?"

"Madame Frielle allowed me to rest on the bed while she was nursing the baby," Nicole says, pulling away. "I am fine."

"You are angry with me?"

"No, maman, it is not anger – I am ashamed and disheartened." Tears form, threatening to fall, but she brushes them away with her fist. "This is not what was supposed to happen. No one was supposed to die."

"Things are what they are – we can only move forward – take care of ourselves now."

Touching the older woman on her shoulder, Nicole turns back to the bedroom. "I must go to the Opera House or I shall be missed."

* * *

Conversation stops as the door to the office opens.

"Where is Monique?" Nadir asks.

Adele shakes her head. "I thought it best not to bring her into this."

"Why?" Christine asks. "Was Raoul with her?"

"Yes, he is a shell. It is painful to see him."

"Still…" Nadir says.

Holding up her hand, she says, "Nicole was in the rehearsal hall with them. I simply went to check on the troupe, suggested the areas needing work and left."

Erik nods. "Yes, that was wise."

"Thank you for your approval," she snorts. "Raoul cannot know of Nicole's involvement in this."

Christine exclaims, "Oh, no."

"What is it" Erik asks, startled at her outburst, he struggles to stand.

"Comte Phillippe – he knows that Nicole was helping the ballet girls."

"But he doesn't know Nicole was one of the kidnappers," Erik says, settling back into his seat upon hearing her response.

"So it is good that she came to work?" Meg asks.

"From this point on – no one other than those of us in this room must know that Nicole is the woman Erik followed," Nadir says.

"What of Veronique and Giselle?" Darius asks. "Veronique did the drawing – while I doubt she would speak to anyone, including Giselle about this – it would be remiss to not caution her about talking to anyone."

"I shall let her know," Adele says. "She is in my office still working on the books until we can find a replacement."

"I shall inform Giselle when she checks in," Nadir says.

"Where is she?" Erik asks. "I expected her to be here for our meeting."

"Last evening, when she came by after the interview with Meybel to give her report, she requested the morning for some personal errands," Nadir replies. "I said yes."

Christine's lips curl into a grin.

"You are looking a bit sly, Christine," Adele says, folding her arms, her own face breaking into a smug smile.

"What?" Nadir says, getting up from his chair, stretching his back. "Is this another mystery we are to solve?" Walking to the sideboard, he pulls out the brandy, "I do not care how early it is – my head aches with all this intrigue."

"You need to get out into the streets again, Daroga, this office is making you into a testy _vieille dame,"_ Erik smirks.

"So I am the old lady? You are the one who required a coach to drive you a few kilometers the other night."

"After running that same distance, I might remind you," Erik retorts. "Why walk when I can ride?"

"The ability to walk does seem to be eluding you today."

"Stop it, you two." Adele stamps her rod on the floor. "Giselle is being courted by Comte Phillippe, my love. Some detective you are if you do not know that – the entire Opera House speaks of little else."

"As I said – he needs to get out of this room," Erik says.

"Meg and Christine start giggling. Even Darius cannot withhold a chuckle.

"Harummph." Nadir swallow his drink and starts to cough. "I am well aware of Giselle's beau. You suspect she was with him last night?"

"Stranger things have happened. Man and woman enjoy one another's company – a little touch here, a little kiss there." Adele shrugs.

"I came back alone in the Police carriage. She stayed behind at Phillippe's request." Christine shrugs.

* * *

" _Just for supper."_

" _But I must make my report to Nadir."_

" _I shall return you – it looks like drizzle and you are not dressed for rain."_

" _That is why I should return to the theater with Christine now, in the Police coach."_

" _But afterward...she has her husband to go to. Where will you go on this frosty evening?_

" _Home, I have a home with Veronique and Andre."_

" _You prefer a chill attic room with a mother and child, to spending the evening with me in front of a blazing fire?"_

" _No, I suppose not."_

" _Thank you for that, at least."_

" _I would love spending the evening with you."_

" _And later – if the weather turns for the worse?"_

" _We shall see."_

* * *

"Fine. Fine. When she arrives I will apprise her of Nicole's status and remind her that our work is confidential," Nadir says. "We must tell Phillippe something – he is paying us."

"Do you really think he would restrain himself, knowing that the woman who likely has his nephew is free?" Adele asks.

"Yes, I do. However challenged he may feel, I believe he will control his emotions," Erik says. "Until we have the baby, nothing can be taken for granted."

"But not Raoul?" Meg asks.

"Definitely not Raoul," Darius says. "You have seen him every day. Do you think he would respond rationally?"

"I wish we could tell Monique – she is so worried about him. It might give her hope," Meg says.

"No," is the resounding response from the others in the room.

"With any luck, we can resolve this soon.

"I have an idea," Christine says."

Erik raises an eyebrow.

"Do not say no before you hear what I have to say," she tells him.

"What is it, Christine?" Nadir asks, eyeing Erik, putting a finger to his lips.

"Everyone here knows I am with child. If I have not advised them directly, then through gossip." Turning to Meg, she asks, "Is that not so?"

Meg nods, then grins. "After the chatter about Giselle and Comte Phillippe, the Opera Ghost and our Prima Donna having a baby is all the talk."

"I am no longer the main concern of the cast?" Erik says.

"You should be happy," Adele says.

"You forget his need for drama and attention, my love," Nadir comments.

"Do you wish to hear my idea or not?" Christine asks.

"I am sorry, Christine, it brightens my day to be able to sting your husband a bit," Nadir replies.

"That is because you so seldom have the upper hand."

"Erik!" Adele stomps her staff again. "Please, for once, hold your tongue."

Christine smiles her thanks to both of them, turning up her nose at Erik.

"I am chastened," he says. "Please, my dear, tell us your idea."

"You are the most incorrigible…" Christine clenches her fists.

"Yes, I am," he says. "I am sorry – this is not a laughing matter, I do not know why I am feeling so giddy."

Waving a hand at him, she says, "I could talk to Nicole about her work with the ballet girls and ask if there is something we can do to help raise money."

"But we had already planned for Dr. Gerard to initiate the idea of a charity with the administrators of the hospital."

"This makes more sense because it is personal – not just our showing up at the hospital."

"She has a point," Adele says.

"Sadly, you are correct," Erik says.

"Why sadly?" Christine says.

"Because I would prefer you keep as much distance from all of this as possible…" Grasping the arms of his chair, he attempts to stand, but falls back – shaking his head, he tugs at his collar, drawing in his breath. "Is anyone else feeling warm?"

"Erik?" Christine jumps from the sofa, going to him. "You are never warm." Pressing her hand against his forehead, she looks to Adele. "He has a fever."

Christine moves aside as the men take Erik's arms to move him to the settee.

Shrinking from their touch, he attempts to push their hands away – his knees buckle. They grasp him under the arms and manage to lift him onto the sofa despite his struggles. Nadir takes his legs, stretching them out. Darius tucks a throw pillow under his head.

"Some willow bark compound," he murmurs, his eyelids fluttering. "Good for lowering fevers."

Adele puts some of the powder into a glass and pours water from the pitcher to dissolve medication and hands it to Christine.

"Drink this" she tells him, holding the glass to his lips. "Your self-denial has finally caught up with you. Little food, little sleep – you ate almost no dinner last night and were wandering the flat last night. Running all over the streets of Paris – you are still recovering from being shot…oh, God, have you not been tending the wound?" Looking to Nadir and Darius, she says, "Help me lift him up – take his jacket and shirt off."

"No, Christine, please – not here," Erik mutters, lifting his hand up to stop them.

"Too late." She tells Nadir and Darius. "Shift him to face the desk – away from the door."

"But I need to see the door."

"I need to see the wound."

The men manage to remove the garments. Christine unwraps the bandaging from his right upper arm. The stitching is intact and appears to be healing. "Well, not so terrible – still we should clean it up."

Adele retrieves the medical kit and fills a bowl with hot water from the tea kettle. Christine cleans the wound with soap and the hot water, applies an antiseptic while Adele prepares a clean dressing.

She covers him with the tan woolen knit afghan folded on the back of the settee. "Finish the medication and eat something – you might just be faint from lack of food."

He screws his face at the taste. "Then give me a cookie or something so I don't ruin my stomach."

Adele rolls her eyes, but gives him piece of bread and cheese. "Eat this first and then you can have a macaron."

"I am going to remove your mask," Christine says.

"No."

"You are already half-naked, besides everyone in this room knows what you look like without – do not be foolish – you will be more comfortable."

"Fine – I have exhausted my arguments about anything – the…bad side is facing the room…"

"That is also the side with the injury."

"Leave the wig?"

"Well, that is a good sign – he is not dying – his vanity is intact," Nadir snorts.

"At least I have something to be vain about."

"Go to sleep," Adele tells him.

Nadir pulls Darius aside. "Go get Dr. Gerard," he whispers.

Darius nods and retrieves his cape.

"I heard that."

"And?" Nadir says.

Erik simply shakes his head, resting his head on the pillow – Christine stroking his brow.

As Darius turns the handle, the door is pushed open. Giselle stops short, running into the young Persian. "Oh, good, everyone is here." She stops, squinting at the body lying on the couch. The squint widens, a shaking hand reaches up to cover her mouth.

Darius regains his footing, preventing the young woman from proceeding further into the room.

Christine leans over blocking Erik's head from view, turning, her eyes lock with Giselle's. "Erik is ill. Perhaps you can meet with M. Khan in Adele's office.

"Yes, of course, I did not mean to intrude." Gathering her gray cloak around the green and silver striped, lace-bibbed dress Christine gifted her, she looks to Nadir, who takes her arm.

Darius opens the door and follows them out.

"Did she see my face?"

"Perhaps a little," Christine says.

"Well that should dampen any romantic notions she might have."

* * *

A/N

French lullaby- L'etait une petite poule grise

T'was a little grey hen that was laying her egg in the church,

laying a little egg that the child ate all warm,

T'was a little black hen that was laying her egg in the press (cupboard, wardrobe)

laying a little egg that the child ate all warm,

T'was a little white hen that was laying her egg in the barn,

laying a little egg that the child ate all warm,

T'was a little red (as in the hair color) hen that was laying her egg in the moss,

laying a little egg that the child ate all warm,

T'was a little brown hen that was laying her egg on the moon,

laying a little egg that the child ate all warm

(It is on You Tube - very sweet song)


	13. Collaborations

" _Aaaaaahh."_

"I did not ask you to sing, Monsieur – although I must admit your voice is glorious and I would most enjoy listening to you…at some other time. At the moment, however, I would only have you say 'ahh,'" Dr. Gerard says removing the silver tongue depressor from Erik's mouth. "Can we try again – just a simple 'ahh?'"

"Do you want a C – an F?" Erik taps his fingers on his thighs, chin raised, dodging from the doctor's hands.

"Erik, stop – say it, do not sing it – he wants to see if your throat is red," Christine says, looking over Dr. Gerard's shoulder, squinting for a better view.

"Is not my throat supposed to be red or pink?"

"I am looking for infection – white spots, severe redness or inflammation." Gerard straightens and steps away – hands on his hips.

Christine moves to the end of settee, pressing her hand against Erik's arm.

"I drank some of my willow bark mixture to reduce inflammation."

"That is good – I can still check for infection – now, please." Gerard holds up the depressor.

Christine squeezes Erik's shoulder.

Eriks opens his mouth and stick out his tongue. "Ahh."

"Again."

"Ahh."

"All right." Dr. Gerard wipes the depressor with an alcohol dampened cloth before laying it in a small box, replacing it in his black bag. He removes a thermometer from a paper bag. "Open your mouth again, please – I want to put this under your tongue."

"What now?" His eyes dart back and forth – sweat rises on his forehead.

"Please calm down – I need to take your temperature," Gerard says. "You are a scientist – or so you said – you know exactly what I am doing. Stop making this so difficult – I have no desire to harm you." Stopping, allowing his gentle gray eyes to connect with Erik's. "Let me do my job and I will be gone."

Christine covers the grin on her face with her hand. "If I did not know better, I would think he was taking lessons from the daroga."

Erik allows him to place the thermometer, turning to glare at his wife.

While waiting for the temperature reading, Gerard warms the bell of his stethoscope in his hands before pressing it against Erik's naked chest. "You could stand to put on a bit of weight. I suspect much of what is wrong has to do with lack of sleep and food."

"You have been speaking with my wife," Erik mumbles.

"No. I have eyes," the doctor retorts. "Stop talking and take a deep breath."

Erik squeezes his eyes shut and complies.

"Good lung expansion – no rattles." He move the stethoscope to several other areas on the chest. "Turn around, let me see your back."

"Is this necessary?"

"Erik stop talking," Christine says. "You are exhausting all of us."

"Fine." Pulling the afghan around his waist, he turns.

The doctor repeats listening to several areas on Erik's back. "Everything sounds good." He removes the thermometer, reading it, he comments, "100 degrees."

"Perfect, I told you that."

"Actually, not – 98.6 is normal, yours is slightly high, but that could be the result of your fussing."

"Erik you were dizzy and falling, declaring you were hot."

"Well, I am no longer dizzy," he says, trying to stand, but unable to find balance, falls back onto the settee. "Well, possibly a bit."

"The wound appears to be healing well," Gerard says. "Food and sleep – perhaps some fresh air and sun, once the drizzle lets up."

Gerard stands, packs his black bag and turns to Christine. "And you Madame, how are you?"

"I am fine, anxious to feel the baby." She presses her hand against her stomach.

"Soon, dear lady. Soon."

"Dr. Gerard, we have something else we wish to consult about," Erik says, using the arm of the sofa to support himself. "Christine, might I have my shirt – and the mask."

Gerard moves to help him – Erik raises his hand to halt the gesture. "Let her, please."

The doctor steps back. "Of course."

After assisting him with the shirt, then the jacket Gerard hands her, Christine hands him his mask.

Clothing secure, Erik settles onto the sofa again.

"Would you like the afghan?"

"No, I should be fine now that I am dressed again. Although I would have more of the soup Adele brought." The tablespoon raised in a toast to the doctor, Erik sips the broth.

Christine joins him, patting his knee. "Please have a seat, Doctor."

"This has to do with the murders?" Gerard asks, choosing the guest chair next to the desk, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs.

"Yes – we have accumulated quite a bit of information and Christine has an idea with which you might be able to help." He sets the dish on the coffee table – wiping his mouth with a napkin. "There is something to be said for eating, I must admit."

"Herre Gud, hjälp mig."* Christine sighs, rolling her eyes. "Perhaps everyone should be here before we speak further."

"If someone is lurking outside the door, my dear, might you request they gather the group so we can discuss this – then they can all leave again."

"Giselle?"

"Yes. She is a part of the firm," he says. "I hope she had sufficient time to recover from the shock of seeing a part of my face." He grins at her.

* * *

Veronique looks up as Nadir enters Adele's office with Giselle, putting down her pen and closing the journal she has been working on. "Giselle – are you all right?"

"She had a bit of a shock," he explains as he helps her to the armchair.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Veronique asks, getting up from the desk, walking over to rest a smooth hand on her brow. "You did not take a chill, did you?"

"No, I am all right, not to worry," she says, removing Veronique's hand.

"I fear we are disturbing your work," Nadir says.

"Actually, I have completed the bookkeeping I promised Madame Giry…is everyone else all right?"

"Erik is unwell, we sent for Dr. Gerard."

"Oh, dear, is it serious? Can I be of use there?" she asks, reaching out to touch his arm.

"No, Christine is with him and the others should be here shortly," Nadir says, patting her hand.

"So there is a Security meeting?"

"Yes."

"And you need this office?"

"Yes."

"I see." Returning to her desk, she retrieves her reticule. Lifting her cloak and bonnet from the coat rack, she says, "Then I shall take my leave. Please wish M. Erik God speed, I shall offer a prayer for his good health."

"You are a fine woman, Veronique – thank you for allowing us to displace you."

She laughs lightly. "You will always have my good will for whatever you need, M. Khan. Please be well, Giselle, I shall see you later at home."

Nadir walks to the armoire and pours Giselle a finger of brandy and hands it to her.

After taking a sip, she puts a hanky to her pug nose and wipes it, sniffling slightly. "I-I do not know what to say. There was no preparation. God, I am so ashamed. He must think me horrible," she says. "I assume the entire half of his face is damaged, I only saw a part of his cheek and mouth."

"The entire right half of his head, actually – he wears a wig," Nadir responds. "The rest of us – those he considers his family – are accustomed to how he looks beneath the mask – in all ways. We think nothing of it."

"I understand the stories now – the fear." Wrapping her arms around herself, she bends forward, mouth trembling.

" _Do_ you?"

"Well, the deformity." Her eyes search his.

"People were not afraid of the Opera Ghost because of how he looked – no one ever saw his face until the night of Don Juan Triumphant. That is, with the exception of those who were with him today in the office."

"Then what frightened them?"

"Rumors – some started by Erik himself. Pranks – some worse than others – some caused by others and blamed on him. This is not to say he did not have a cruel past or he was a pleasant person, but the Opera House was partially designed by him and was his home – he would not deliberately do anything to destroy it."

"Deliberately – you mean what happened with Christine was an accident?"

"It was not of his doing." Nadir raises an eyebrow. "Life has a way of happening, Giselle. Let us leave it at that. If you want to hear tales, I am certain there are any number of people willing to spread them. Is this so important for you to know?" Leaning against the desk, he narrows his eyes, waiting for her to respond.

"I was taken aback is all."

"Yes, that was obvious and understandable."

"Do you think he will still allow me to work for him?"

"Do you wish to?"

"Yes, of course," she says. "I love my work here – this is the happiest time I have ever known. I do not want this…accident to ruin everything."

"Good enough – it is unlikely the situation will present itself again. However, now that you have some idea behind the reason Erik wears a mask – you will be prepared."

The door bursts open - Darius and Meg enter, breathing heavily. Meg giggling – Darius bearing his usual smile of tolerance of the little ballerina's energy and spirit.

"We were run out," Meg says, flopping down on the chaise. "Uncle Erik told us we were sucking in his air and to take our leave while he awaited the doctor."

"I do think we need a larger office, M. Khan," Darius says. "It was quite close with all of us negotiating a place to light upon. Directing his attention to the slight figure in the green and gray striped dress, he asks, "Are you quite all right, Giselle?"

"Yes, I am." She holds up the snifter.

Darius frowns at the action, taking a seat next to Meg.

"Our faith prohibits the use of alcohol. He frowns at me as well when I fail my vows and occasionally imbibe. Think nothing of it, Giselle." Folding his arms, he asks, "How is he?" Nadir rocks his head back and forth, pursing his lips. "Good – bad?"

"Laughing," Meg tells him. "Well, maybe not laughing, but amused. He said something to Christine and she laughed – so I think he is all right – just grumpy."

"How things change and how they do not," Nadir says. "Where is your mother?"

"She got some soup for Erik and is waiting on Dr. Gerard." Meg pulls her knees up under her, nudging Darius with a foot. "How was your morning, Giselle?"

"Meg," Darius growls.

Giselle tips her head at Nadir, an eyebrow raised.

He shrugs. "When asked, I simply said you asked for the morning to do errands."

"I see," she says, "and where do _you_ suppose I was, Meg?"

"Oh, Giselle, everyone knows you are having a flirtation with Comte Phillippe," she says picking at her nails. "Veronique said you did not come home last night. That you came home after the interview with Meybel, changed your clothes and left again, . . . . ." A singsong tone to her voice.

"Veronique told you all that?" Giselle's cheeks turn bright red.

Darius frowns at Meg and says, "She said nothing of the kind – merely responded to Meg's question as to why we were not going to work together as per usual – that you were not there when she awoke this morning."

"You have your new dress on today – I merely guessed that you went home to change, then left again. And…I was right."

"We had supper. It was raining and he invited me to stay the night – in a guest room."

"See," she says to Darius, "I am not telling tales out of school."

"You are telling tales that are none of your business, young lady," Nadir says. "If you wish to participate in this investigation, you must learn to hold your tongue."

Her lips form a moue. "I am sorry – it is just fun watching romances."

"Meg, be grateful that you are not the topic of any gossip," Nadir says.

"Who says not? People talk about Darius and me all the time – and it is not always kindly," she retorts. "If I can detract attention from myself, I will do so. Besides the girls love Giselle's story because it affects La Sorelli – they feel she is getting her comeuppance. They all dream of having a handsome Comte fall in love with them."

"I had no idea," Nadir says.

"And why would you – you are not exposing your body on stage three or four times a week for a salary barely enough to pay for rent and enough food to survive," Meg says. "We are lucky – you are lucky, Giselle – so stop being stuck up."

"I am not stuck up, as you say." Giselle folds her arms in front of her.

"Yes, you are. You walk around like you are better than the rest of us because you are able to make things and work for Uncle Erik and Nadir."

"Why does everyone say that?"

"Who else said it?" Nadir asks.

"Christine," Giselle mutters.

"Really? Christine said that – she must have been upset," Meg says, slapping her hands on her lap. "Christine never confronts anyone – except Uncle Erik."

"She did give both the Comte and Vicomte a talking to that one time, though," Nadir says, laughing. "I would certainly not want to be on the other end of a tongue-lashing from her. I think she saves up for them."

"We cleared things between us," Giselles says, her lips tight.

Nadir responds with a sheepish grin.

"I should hope so," Meg says. "Christine is the best person I have ever known."

"I think we have worn this topic through," Darius says, placing his hand on her arm. "No more gossiping. Please."

"All right," Meg pouts, moving over to her mother's desk, she picks up a stack of drawings from the corner of Adele's desk. Shuffling through them, picking out two, she lays them down in front of her. "I want to know how I can help with Nicole."

"What about Nicole?" Giselle asks.

"Nicole is the person Uncle Erik was chasing," Meg says.

Giselle's eyes widen, she looks at Nadir and Darius. "Did Christine know before we visited Meybel?"

"I would assume Erik told her," Nadir says. "He informed us when he returned. You would have been told this morning."

"So she knew and did not tell me," Giselle says. "That is why she led the questioning to the voices Meybel heard."

"Voices? What did Meybel say?" Nadir asks.

"She believes one of the men was actually a woman," she replies – scooting forward on the chair – her eyes bright. "When I pressed her about recalling anything else – she told us about a locket."

"It sounds as though you were a good team," Nadir says.

"She was showing you are not as smart as you think you are," Meg says. "I am sorry, Darius, but I am not as good a person as Christine. She even forgave all those harpies after they were so mean to her."

Giselle sighs. "I apologized to Christine and I apologize to each of you. Is there someone else I should speak to?"

Meg looks at Darius, who shrugs. "Tell her," he says, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

"Veronique. She is concerned about her new job."

* * *

" _Look at this one, Madame Giry. Can you see the way the colors of the costumes flow as if part of the backdrop?" Giselle pressed a sketch forward._

" _Yes, I see that."_

" _My thought was to reflect more of a differentiation," Veronique pointed out the shading in her drawing, her voice and hand shaking. "The deeper shades allow the dancers separation from, rather than becoming part of, the scenery."_

" _Both have something to speak for it," Adele said. "Christine?"_

" _Show them to Erik without telling him who did each drawing and let him choose."_

* * *

"I would never hurt Veronique – she gave me a home and a little brother," Giselle protests. "I love them. She was just here." Turning to Nadir, she asks, "Did there appear to be any problems between us."

"Uh, no. No, I would say, no."

Meg pushes the two drawings forward. In the upper right hand corner of Veronique's sketch is a red E – Giselle's drawing holds a small red x.

"Well, I guess that answers that question," Giselle says looking at the drawings. "Veronique does not know, I suspect. She should be informed – I realize now how concerned she was."

"Maman has not had time to speak to either of you," Meg says. "There are a number of your drawings that have been approved for use. This one was particularly hurtful because you redid something Veronique had already submitted."

"Can we now conclude this?" Nadir asks. "Take a lesson from Christine, Meg. Speak your piece and then move on."

Their heads turn as Adele enters the room. "Erik is fine – just needs food and rest. You can take the gloomy looks off of your faces," she says, her glance touching each of them. "Giselle, you still look a bit peaked. I hope Erik's face was not so disturbing you cannot work with us any longer. He and Christine are both concerned."

"They are concerned about me?" Giselle says.

"None of us, particularly Erik, is foolish enough to think that his face is one that can be seen without some sort of initial shock. His deformity is tragic – he survives despite the rejection it fuels. Nevertheless, seeing him for the first time without his mask can be unsettling."

"I hope that I am like the rest of you – able to look beyond it."

Adele's brief smirk replaces her normal glower. "Good. Now let us assemble in the Security Office, discuss what we all know and get on with our business. We have performances over the next three nights, so rest is important, too." Waving the group out the door, she walks to her desk to turn off the lamp and finds the pair of sketches. "Meg, Meg, Meg." Straightening them, she returns the stack to the corner of her desk, then follows the others from the room.

* * *

"So this is the locket?" Inspector Marquand asks Office Fremed.

"Yes, monsieur – it was in the small casket on the mantelpiece as described by the maid."

"That will be all – thank you." Rubbing his thumb against a gold oval locket, set with two cabochon cut almandine garnets, he turns the pendant over, admiring the conformity of the gems. The interior holds a portrait of a darkly handsome man with round heavy-lidded eyes and full lips. The engraving reads: Marie-Corrinne 2 Juillet 1881.

* * *

" _German, it is too much."_

" _It suits you – brash, beautiful, unique."_

" _Your photograph?"_

" _So you will always think of me."_

" _How can I not – you own my heart. Dare I ask if this is a promise?"_

" _Soon. We must follow through with the Vicomte – then it will all be done."_

" _Must I? Can we not stop this now? He will pay for my silence."_

" _This will be different from the others?"_

" _How?"_

" _You will bear a child – his child – or mine – it matters not which – he will think it is his."_

" _What? I do not want to bear a child – I could die – women die bearing children. My mother..."_

" _Even if he does not want the child, there are couples who will pay a fortune for a child of noble blood. I know what they pay for ordinary babies."_

" _No. You ask too much."_

" _Then you can be a lady of leisure."_

" _Please do not ask this of me."_

" _Marie-Corrinne, mon cher. Ma belle. Mon amour."_

* * *

Marquand riffles through the file on his desk and removes the diary. 1 Juillet – 9 RC – 1st yes; 2 Juillet – 1 GP – dj – yes. "Cocky bastard – had the locket engraved before she even consented to the deception," he mutters to himself. "At least now we know what you look like."

"Fremed!" he calls out.

"Monsieur," the young officer says, rushing into the small office.

"Did you examine this?"

"No, monsieur."

Marquand hands the locket to him. "Open it."

"This is Doctor Perdue?"

"I believe so." He pushes the diary towards his associate.

The officer scans the entries – his eyes stop short, looking up, he says, "They planned to deceive him."

"Yes."

"I suppose one positive thing that might come of this will be identifying the father – he and the Vicomte are complete opposites."

"In more ways than one," Marquand says. "See if we can get some copies of this – or, perhaps enlist the woman who does the drawings at the Palais Garnier, the photograph is quite small, she might be able to create a larger representation."

* * *

"You are not at the Opera house?" Phillippe asks Raoul, entering the dining nook. "You look like hell, brother. Are you eating – getting any rest at all?"

"Monique is very kind, but I sense she is tired of my gloom," he chuffs. "My company is less than jovial and she has her own sorrows to deal with." He toys with the trout, haricots verts and pommes frites on the plate in front of him.

"Would you prefer something else to eat? Crepes, perhaps – something not as dour as you or the poor fish appear to be," Phillippe says – walking to the kitchen. "Francoise – some crepes and crème fraiche for the young master and myself."

"I doubt food will cheer me," Raoul says.

"It will cheer me, since I must look at you."

"You are quite taken with the carpenter girl?" Raoul picks up a knife and taps it on the table.

"Her name is Giselle and, yes, I enjoy her company very much." Phillippe relaxes into his chair.

"Life is strange, Phillippe, is it not?" Raoul asks, drawing circles on the tablecloth with the tip of the knife. "I fell in love with a common girl and you were unable to accept her."

"People change. I am sorry I was not more tolerant," Phillippe says. "Are you planning to threaten me with that knife – if so I would forget the thought – put it down. We both know Christine and Erik are a good and happy couple – well matched." He stands up as Francoise enters with a tray carrying the crepes and a plate of fruit, along with a fresh pot of tea, taking it from him and placing it on the table. "Thank you."

Francoise gives a short bow and leaves the room.

"I suppose," Raoul says, laying the knife down. "Do you ever plan to tell me about your private conversation with him?"

"At least you are no longer referring to him as the monster," Phillippe says. "You are growing up." He places a plate in front of his brother. "Eat."

"Well?" Raoul spreads the pancake with some crème, adding a few blueberries before taking a bite.

"He is our cousin."

Raoul coughs, putting his napkin up to his mouth. "You wait until I have food in my mouth and then tell me something so bizarre?" He throws the napkin on the table. "What sort of joke is this?"

"My intention was not for you to choke. My timing was poor."

"I should say so."

"His father was the son of our great aunt, Claudine."

"As if my life was not already hell – that…that man is now my family?"

"Neither our family nor his served him well."

"I am to pity him?"

"No. He has not asked for pity – rebukes it, in fact."

"Please do, tell me of his sorrow."

"You have eyes – you have seen his face, I have not – you inform _me_ what his sorrow might be," Phillippe growls. "When will you grow up, Raoul? You want to be a father? You want to raise a child – likely getting him back with the help of the _man_ you find so reprehensible? What will it take for you to stop feeling sorry for yourself?" He stands up and throws his own napkin on the table.

"Wait. Phillippe, please, wait," Raoul pleads. "Let me try this again." He reaches out his hand, tears filling his eyes. "Please. It is horrid – the experience still haunts me."

Phillippe grasps his brother's hand, returning to his seat. "Tell me."

"Half of his face is a mass of what looks to be scar tissue, his lips look bloated, an eye melts into an ear and a cheek. His hair is sparse and a piece of skull appears to be missing. Imagine that raging at you."

"Birth defects, possibly due in part to inter-marriage. Our aunt gave birth to a son sired by Erik's grandfather. That son married the legal daughter of the grandfather and his wife."

"Dear, God."

"There are likely other causes, but that is of no matter to us. He is our family and has committed himself to finding _your_ son for that reason."

"I see. I must welcome him despite what I just told you?"

"No, but I will not tolerate you berating the man any more. I understand your sense of loss. I understand that your confrontation with him was horrible. That it terrified and angered you – particularly when Christine did not appreciate your love as you wished she would," Phillippe says. "But, for all that, he let you go and later saved your life."

"Yes, he did."

"I apologize for not being more sympathetic to you then. I am trying in my way to be more generous in spirit myself."

Raoul rubs his eyes, shaking his head.

"You have a son now. You have a young woman who loves you and whom you love. Please stop hating."

"I am so tired," Raoul says. "It is as though I am in some downward spiral and there is nothing I can do to stop it."

"Monsieurs? May I enter?" Francoise asks.

"Of course," Phillippe responds.

"The post just arrived and there was a letter addressed to "BeBe"de Chagny.

Raoul jumps up and takes the envelope Francoise holds out to him.

Phillippe nods. "Open it."

* * *

Monique starts at the sight of Christine, Meg and Dr. Gerard in the mirror. She is not paying attention to her movements, simply doing her exercises hypnotically. The mirror is no friend to her these days – the dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks darker against her wan complexion – the copper cap of tight curls hold no sheen.

"Monique, it is so good to see you," Christine says. "This week has been so full, I am sorry I have not taken the time to visit with you."

"No need to apologize," Monique says, straining to smile at the visitors. "How is M. Erik?"

"At the moment, a bit under the weather, but, overall well, thanks to you – I shall be forever in your debt."

Monique bows her head, shoulders slumping – tears, unbidden flow unchecked down her cheeks. Christine grabs her, taking her in her arms, as the ballerina's legs crumple beneath her.

Dr. Gerard moves quickly to assist – the two of them walking her to one of the visitor's chairs. Meg finds Monique's cloak tossed over the end of the barre and wraps it around her, kneeling at her feet, rubbing her hands.

Gerard opens his black bag and removes the thermometer, wiping it clean after dipping it into a small bottle of alcohol, and inserts it into her mouth.

Her gaze meets his and she sniffles, managing a small smile.

"You have lost weight, even in the week since I have seen you last. You and M. Erik seem to have the same diagnosis. I am going to guess that you have no fever, but you are not eating nor sleeping much are you."

She shakes her head.

Meg opines, "No, she has not. All she does is dance and mope. Raoul is not much help – he is just as bad, only he does not dance. He sits – crossing and re-crossing his legs…and he sighs." Looking around, noting his absence. "Where is he anyway?"

"Home," Monique mumbles around the thermometer.

Gerard removes it from her mouth – gauging it in the light, he says, "Normal, as I supposed."

"I told him to go home and be with his brother – who would be better company for him. At least, change his clothes," she says. "He walks the streets at night after accompanying me home."

"That was wise, Monique," Christine says, taking a seat in the chair next to her. "You need to take some care of yourself. We are all concerned about the baby, but it is unfair of him to burden you with his grief."

"Raoul is and always will be a selfish fop," Meg says.

"No, Meg. No," Monique says. "He is in pain."

"And makes certain that everyone knows it." Meg harrumphs. "Even now we are talking about him, when we came to see _you_."

Monique laughs, "True enough. He means well and he is so kind and loving to me."

* * *

" _Are you certain we will not be interrupted?"_

" _Yes – Meg is with Darius at his home. Madame and Monsieur Khan are at the theater."_

" _You are certain you wish for this – I do not want to unleash bad memories for you."_

" _Nor, I for you. Perhaps this will help us both heal."_

" _Not very romantic, is it? This is not how I imagined our lovemaking to be – a single bed in a tiny flat."_

" _Shhhh."_

 _Ghosting her slim fingers over his face, she brushed her thumb along his mustache. "Little caterpillar."_

 _Hesitantly, he leaned forward and touched his lips against hers, releasing the breath he had been holding for what seemed to be an eternity. She had allowed his kisses before, but he never felt welcomed to intimacy._

 _Her own sigh matched his. Breaking away, she told him, "I know I have never truly kissed you with love before – forgive me. Your lips are so soft and gentle – I would wish for more of this and will try to be open to you. I know the physical elements of sex – I am not pure."_

" _You ARE pure – what happened to you was not of your doing."_

" _But it was done and my body is what it is. He hurt me quite badly and I am concerned that the memory will taint us."_

" _I could say the same in many ways. Neither of us has truly made love."_

" _Kiss me again. Be my first true lover and I shall be yours. Let us bury our pasts in one another."_

 _Leaning into him again, she rested against his shoulder as he brought her into an embrace. Their lips engaged once more, less tentative, more willing to explore the sensations welling up within their bodies._

" _I do love you, Raoul," she breathed into his mouth._

* * *

"What was it you wished to speak to me about?" Monique asks.

"Nothing – we only wished to visit," Christine says, her eyes searching the room. "We were also hoping to speak with Nicole – I do not see her."

"Most of the dancers are taking their half day – with a performance tomorrow night, they hope to get some extra rest," Monique explains. "I imagine Nicole has gone home."

"I thought she might still be here," Meg says. "She often stays later to speak with the girls about any problems they might be having."

"She is most kind in that way," Monique says. "I do not know what I should have done without her."

"Did she provide any medical care for you?" Dr. Gerard inquires.

"Not her, but there was a Dr. Perdue. I saw him once. He confirmed I was not with child."

"I know of him, he was using my office space once a week – on Rue de Rivoli – is that where you saw him?" Dr. Gerard pulls one of the chairs around so he can face the women.

"No – this was in less wealthy arrondissement." She rattles off an address.

"Have you seen him since?" Christine asks.

"No, I have had no need."

"Was he good looking?" Meg asks, bouncing on her knees.

Monique giggles, smacking her on the hand. "Why would you ask that?"

"I do not know if I could see a doctor who was really handsome."

Dr. Gerard clears his throat, fumbling with his cravat.

"No offense, Dr. Gerard. It is difficult for me to think of any man seeing my private parts – even my Darius, whom I love with my whole heart and soul."

"That is quite understandable, Meg. Many women still prefer midwives attending them when they give birth. As for your mate – well, when the time comes, you will not find it such a challenge, I am sure."

Megs bobs her head, lowering her eyes. "I hope so," she murmurs. Folding her hands in her lap, she returns to her prodding of Monique. "So was he?"

Monique pauses, squinting her pale blue eyes – biting her lip. "To be honest, I was too distressed to pay much attention, but, as best I can recall – not especially – rather nondescript – average height, thin, but with a rounded belly – a very heavy jaw. What I do recall as odd, his head was covered by one of those Phrygian caps, pulled down so no hair was visible."

"Ewww," Meg says. "I am happy we know Dr. Gerard, who is so handsome and kindly."

The doctor blushes. "So I am not _too_ handsome?"

All the women laugh at this.

"Meg, you never fail to brighten my mood and help me forget my sorrows."

"She is quite gifted in that regard," Christine says, beaming at her friend. "Well, I suppose we shall not see Nicole."

"What did you wish to talk to her about, if I am not being rude?"

"I heard that she helps the girls who might need medical care. We wanted to discuss setting up some sort of assistance program and wished to discuss her needs," Christine says.

"Would you like me to say something if she returns?"

"No, because you are coming home with me," Meg says, getting to her feet. "Darius has to work and I have not chatted with you in too long a time."

"I would say Meg's offer is the perfect therapy for your sadness," Dr. Gerard says. "If I can be of service to you as a physician, please let me know."

"Thank you, doctor. Your visit was what I needed – all of you," she says, taking the hand Christine offers her.

"Would you care to accompany me back to Erik's office, Doctor?" Christine asks. "Check him one more time before we go home?"

Shivering slightly, his attention shifts to a curtained area at the rear of the room. Taking a moment before answering, he tips his head for a better view. All is still.

"Doctor?" Christine says, "What is it – did you see something?"

"I am not certain. I felt a draft and thought I saw that curtain move," he says. "The Opera House was haunted once, I hear."

Although she joins in his laughter, Christine persists. "Shall we check? Meg, run back to the storage area, Dr. Gerard thinks he saw something."

Meg nods and scampers to the curtained corner. After stepping behind the fly for a few moments, she pops her head out and shakes her head. "There is a trap back here, but it appears untouched."

"There, I told you it was nothing." He offers his arm, saying, "Come, it would be my pleasure to escort you."

"Thank you, Meg. Get some rest, Monique. I shall see you again, soon." Christine says as they leave. "Do not eat too many of Madame's meringues."

* * *

Erik dozes on the settee, his head propped up by a pillow on one arm, his legs resting on the other – the afghan covering the upper part of his body. The room is dark with the exception of the light provided by the desk lamp on his desk.

Christine quietly opens the door, peeking in before turning back to Dr. Gerard. "He appears to be asleep," she whispers. "I shall sit with him until he wakens, then will take him home."

"You have a carriage? You might need help."

"I shall be fine – we can stay here if necessary." Taking him by the shoulders, she presses a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you for being here today – for Erik _and_ for Monique."

"Keep me informed – I like your plan – it was being able to help young women that had me – and the other doctors – offer Perdue office space," he says. "I must say, however, that I can recall no one fitting the description Mlle. Monique gave of him. I would certainly remember the Phrygian cap." Doffing his own hat, he takes his leave down the hallway.

"Is everyone gone?" Erik asks.

"Yes," Christine says, entering the room, closing the door behind her – locking it. "Where are Adele and Nadir? Meg said that Darius had to work."

"They went to get some food for themselves and will bring back dinner for us – I think Nadir wants to bring Darius up to date on the case. Our lovely Meg can be quite the distraction." Keeping his eyes closed, he holds his arms out to her.

"True enough, although she was a big help just now." She walks to the sofa, sitting on the edge. Lying across him, head on his chest, she settles into his embrace.

"Was Nicole there?"

"No – the ballet girls left for their half day. Monique was doing her interminable exercises."

"Raoul?"

"She sent him home."

"Smart girl."

Christine slaps his chest, then laughs. "You are right, of course. He is so very sad, it must be difficult for her to have him constantly there."

"He has good reason – I am hoping something will break."

"We were able to get a description of Dr. Perdue."

His eyes pop open and he struggles to sit up. "How?"

Christine pushes him back down. "Monique met him."

"You asked her?"

"No. Meg did – in her own special way – wondering if he was good looking," Christine chuckles. "Monique then had to describe him."

"Anything stand out?"

"Just a rounded belly, neither handsome nor ugly, heavy jaw…and he wore a Phrygian cap pulled down to his ears."

"Indeed? Sounds theatrical. I wonder if she could describe him to Veronique."

Rising, she asks, "Shall I see if I can catch them – they may still be here?"

"No," he sighs, tugging her back. "Stay with me. I find I miss you so when you are not near."

Christine cuddles closer to him, nuzzling his neck.

"We can ask Adele and Nadir to take care of the sketch when they return home."

"Do you expect them soon?" Christine asks.

"They just left," he says, adjusting his body to give her more room on the sofa. "It was strange being here alone."

"How so?"

"I am no longer accustomed to being by myself. At first I wanted everyone to leave – some of my old fears were raised when the doctor was examining me."

Christine strokes his arm, kissing the wounded area. "Yes, I know."

"Will that caution ever go away, do you think?"

"I do not know why you should want it to – I cannot imagine enjoying just anyone touching _me_ at will …and I have never been tortured."

"But the presence of people?"

"Sometime that is nice, other times not. The difference is whether you feel lonely."

"Yes, I suppose I felt lonely. It was rather _fun_ , to use your term, being the center of attention."

"Aha, so you have learned the trick of being ill to garner care from others."

"Is that what I did?"

"No, I do not believe so, but now you do know, and might endeavor to utilize the behavior in the future," she says, poking him in the side.

Taking her hand to stop the tickling, bringing to his lips. "My mother would often claim ill health when I pressed her for attention – especially with my lessons. She was my tutor, since no one else was allowed to see me. If I became too inquisitive, she would rush off with a sick head-ache. Marie would then comfort her with an ice pack and a cup of tea."

"What a miserable child she was," Christine says, her eyes flaring.

"No, I was the miserable child."

"My dearest husband, you were simply _a_ child, deserving of love and affection."

"Well, you are here now and I am full of bliss," he says, kissing her forehead. "Did anything else happen?"

"You truly are inquisitive."

"Will _you_ now have the sick headache?" he chuckles.

"Noooo. However, Dr. Gerard mentioned he heard the Opera House was haunted at one time," Christine says.

"What brought that about?"

"He felt a draft, then thought he saw movement where the extra mirrors and chairs are stored."

"And?"

"Meg checked – there was nothing untoward."

"There _is_ a trap door there."

"Meg said it looked undisturbed."

"Hmmm."

"Not a ghost?"

His smile is grim. "No, my dear – not a ghost."

* * *

A/N – *Oh, dear God, help me.


	14. Recognition

RECOGNTION

Christine places the serving tray on the nightstand, then sits on the edge of the bed, testing his forehead for fever. Leaning down, she kisses each of his eyes, then nuzzles his neck.

Amber eyes fly open, Erik sits bolt upright, forcing her to grasp his nightshirt to prevent sliding to the floor. Breathing heavily, his arms stretch out, pushing at the demons he believes attack him. "No! Stop!"

"Erik! Wake up," she cries, holding his shoulders to gain purchase.

"What? Where?" he gasps. Seeing her startled eyes, he shakes himself awake, wrapping his arms around her, he tugs her back onto the bed. "Dear god, are you all right – what happened?"

"I am fine – you must have been having one of your dreams," she says, straightening her coral dressing gown, settling herself back on the bed.

"What is the time?" Panting, he twists his head looking for the clock.

"Around 8 – you were sleeping so soundly, I did not want to waken you, but we have the meeting with Nadir and the Inspector."

"Perhaps I _was_ mildly ill," he says, falling back onto the pillows.

Gently rubbing his hands in hers, she says, "People need to sleep and eat, Erik – you behave as though you require neither. Things were going well with the dreams – but this past week has taken its toll."

"I am sorry if I frightened you – hurt you."

"I am sorry if _I_ frightened _you_. And, I was not hurt," she says, patting his cheek. Rising from the bed, she props up the pillows behind him, then retrieves his breakfast. "I prepared this – an attempted omelet, but this is what I wound up with." A plate of scrambled eggs with bits of cubed peppers and onion, a croissant spread with butter and jam, and a cup of tea with a slice of lemon are on the tray she sets over his lap. "I put some cheese in the eggs," she says, "I hope they taste all right."

Taking a bite of her dish, he declares it "perfect."

"Are you eating?" he asks, forking some eggs into his mouth, taking a bite of the pastry.

"I have finished." Smiling at his seeming delight with the food, she says, "I am so relieved that you are well."

"You are the reason I am well and the reason I am determined to remain well."

Walking around the bed to her side, she climbs in next to him, sitting cross-legged, hugging her knees. "What was your dream?"

"Ah, that," he sighs, squeezing the lemon slice, dropping the rind into the cup. "It was a jumble – they always are."

"But what sort of jumble? You know that you feel better when you discuss these things."

* * *

 _Erik lies on his back in the coffin – Javert hovers over him – kneeling on his crossed arms, sitting on his chest. The little sultana holds his legs and laughs as the gypsy forces his mouth open._

 _Dr. Gerard shoves the tongue depressor into his mouth, down his throat. He gags. Blood drips from his lips._

" _It will not hurt," Madeleine says, the Phrygian hat falling over her face. Claw-like nails slip under his lips. Swatting her away, the pliers fly across the room. Hundreds of teeth fly from his mouth._

 _Pere Mansart makes a sign of the cross over the teeth. "You are a scientist – or so you said."_

" _Just a tooth – one tooth," Javert laughs, holding his arm up – the bit of white enamel catching the light. "Marie-Corrinne will be amused."_

 _The pain – the pain._

* * *

"Your mother?"

"She wanted to pull my front teeth – they were loose. She had a pliers."

"Oooo. Pappa tied length of string to my tooth, wrapped it on a door handle, then slammed the door," she says. "It was good luck. I put the tooth under my pillow and when I slept a fairy came and left me a coin."

"I did not know what she was doing – she did not tell me."

"What happened then?"

"I twisted them out myself and buried them in the garden. I watched to see if something would grow, but nothing did." He chuckles.

"Until the new teeth came in? They grew back in your mouth," she teases.

"Yes – foolish teeth."

"Javert?"

"He thought he could sell my tooth – as a charm against evil spirits – to the gawkers, but no one bought it. Thank goodness," Erik says. "I should have nothing but gums now had he succeeded."

"What happened to that tooth?"

"He returned it to me – I have a small casket in my desk with some jewels and other keepsakes. I keep it there."

"The pain must have been terrible."

"Yes, I bled and bled until I stuffed some cloth in the empty hole."

Christine twists a strand of his hair around her fingers. "No wonder you were frightened when Dr. Gerard was poking about in your mouth," she says, "Interesting how the case got mixed into your memories."

"Women appear to have died because someone took their babies – possibly by force, possibly out of goodwill – perhaps both."

"You will find out – I know you will." Squeezing his hand, she jumps off the bed, running around to take the tray from his lap, she checks the time on the rosewood clock. "So are you going to get up or do you plan to take the day off?" she says, hands on hips.

"Come here for a moment – we have time," he says, sliding to the center of the bed.

"Time for what?"

"For me to thank you for such a delightful breakfast and your infinite patience with me." Untying her dressing gown, he glides his hand over her belly, gathering her close. "Just let me hold you – both of you – for a moment."

"That is all?"

"It is enough – holding my beautiful girls. Besides, I do not wish to infect you if I do have some sort of germ."

"I see," she chortles. "Well, the risk is worth dispelling the horrible images of flying teeth from your mind."

* * *

" _Are you alone?"_

Nadir jumps at the whisper in his ear, spilling his tea on the desk. "Damnation, you know very well I am alone," he says, lifting the piece of paper he was reading, shaking off what liquid he can.

The wall opens, Erik hold the door for Christine to enter. Both of them laughing at both the look on the daroga's face and the situation he finds himself in.

"Oh, Nadir, you poor man." Christine rushes to the hutch to retrieve several towels to mop up the mess, while Erik meanders to the bookcase behind Nadir.

"You are most fortunate that the cup was essentially empty and the paper was of no significance," Nadir growls, as he crumbles the single sheet into a ball and attempts to stash it into his pocket.

"You do not like when I announce myself and you do not like when I simply enter."

Christine removes the cup and begins mopping up the desk, forcing Nadir to roll his chair back.

"Try knocking – like a normal human being," he says, looking over his shoulder. "Why are you lurking behind me?"

"Well that is quite a list." Holding his hand in the air, he ticks each item off raising one finger for each. First of all, it is my office. Secondly, I shall lurk where I wish – although, I have limited that particular activity substantially. Must I knock on my own door?" Leaning over Nadir's shoulder, he whispers in his ear, "Lastly, as for being a normal human being – that would be asking a bit much, now, dear friend. I have so few opportunities today to shock people, so, unfortunately for you, you must be the beneficiary of my frolicsome nature."

"That is what you call it?"

Erik snatches the damp wad from Nadir's hand, twirling it on the tips of his fingers. "If this piece of paper is as insignificant as you say, why are you hiding it in your pocket, rather than tossing it into the trash?"

Nadir struggles to get the note back, almost falling from his seat.

"What are you doing?" Christine exclaims – stepping away from the fumbling Nadir and prancing Erik.

"Why can you not be ill like other people – I swear to Allah you are worse now than your normal annoying self."

"I had a good night's sleep and my wife prepared a delightful breakfast for me – is that not what normal human beings do?"

"No. They behave normally, with restraint and respect for their friends and the personal belongings of same friends."

"This?" Erik holds up the folded paper, shaking it out. "By all means, have your personal belonging."

Nadir does not bother to reach for his note, instead falls back into the chair, waving his hand in surrender. "Fine. Read it."

"Oh, you have taken the fun out of it, daroga."

"Erik, stop it – give him his writing," Christine says. "You are like little children, I am ready to send to both to a corner."

Nadir sighs heavily. "I was attempting to compose vows for my wedding to Adele. We hope to be married in the next week and a half. When I attempt to write what is in my heart – it comes out gibberish."

"I am sure that is untrue, Nadir," Christine protests. "You are extremely well-spoken."

"If that were all it takes, I would have completed Don Juan Triumphant ten years ago."

"You are admitting you are not perfect?"

"No – I merely said that I would have completed the opera earlier."

Both Christine and Nadir chuckle. He says, "You are incorrigible."

Erik hands the paper to Nadir. "Rewrite, rewrite, rewrite. Christine has an aptitude for lyrics, perhaps she can help you."

"I would be happy to help, Nadir, if you wish. Perhaps I can write some lovely things that I know about the Madame."

Erik raises his eyebrows.

"Do not mock my beautiful Adele" Nadir growls at him – to Christine he says, "Thank you, I would appreciate that." Straightening the paper, he folds it neatly and places it in his waistcoat pocket.

"May I have _your_ permission to sit at _my_ desk?" Erik asks, resting his hand on the back of his chair.

"Just sit."

All spirit of play over, Erik sits down, pulling out of a sheet of paper and pen to write down some thoughts. Looking up from his notes, he says, "Something has been bothering me about the visit Christine and Dr. Gerard had with Monique."

"The trap?" Nadir asks. "That was concerning me as well."

Erik nods. "I am fairly certain it was Nicole, but why would she be hiding? From what Christine said, the conversation was benign."

"Dr. Perdue's name was raised and his description given," Christine offers, after serving Nadir a fresh cup, she sets another cup of tea for Erik on his desk and one for herself to the settee next to his side of the desk. "And she hid before we even entered the room."

"Even so – Nicole knows what he looks like," Nadir says.

"Does she?" Erik raises an eyebrow. "Dr. Gerard said the description matched no one he knew at the Maternite hospital." Reviewing his notes, he says, "Perhaps the Dr. Perdue she heard described does not fit the Dr. Perdue she does know."

"Two of them?" Christine asks. "To be perfectly frank – I find it difficult seeing someone of Marie-Corrinne's appearance with the man Monique described."

Erik snaps, "You thought him too ugly?"

"Do not be a simpleton, Erik – and do not take me for one," Christine says, her mouth a firm line, eyes hard and glaring. "The description sounded like a caricature – not a real person. You suggested as much. The hat in particular, but the body shape sounded odd to me as well."

"I am sorry – I reach point of acceptance, then something happens…" Erik says, recovering himself. "Thank you for reminding me of my own thoughts regarding the description Monique provided."

"We shall know more when we see Veronique's drawings – Marquand met with her last night," Nadir says. "My message crossed with one from him – it seems there was a photograph of Perdue in Mlle. Arnault's locket. Veronique was to do an enlargement"

* * *

" _Madame Dupree, thank you for be available to us on such short notice."_

" _It is my pleasure, Inspector – I am pleased that my skills, such as they are, can be useful," Veronique stepped back, inviting Marquand into her small sitting room. The fireplace gave off a warm glow, pleasant after being in the night air._

 _Andre jumped up from his wooden desk and ran to shake the policeman's hand. "I am so happy for you to visit our home," he said. "Would you like some tea?"_

" _That would be fine, young man. I understand you are an artiste yourself."_

" _M. Erik is teaching me to sing and play the violin and piano," Andre replied, putting the tea things on a tray, carrying them to the coffee table in front of the brown corduroy sofa. "I shall be performing in the new review with Mme. Christine."_

" _Then I will make it a point to attend a performance."_

 _Andre beamed, his cheeks flushed with pleasure._

" _Thank you, Andre, for helping with the refreshment. I must speak with the Inspector in private now – perhaps you could take little Erika to the bedroom and finish your studies in there."_

" _Yes, Maman." Picking up the black and white kitten and his notebook, the boy bowed, then ran into the curtained bedroom._

" _He is an admirable young man," Marquand said._

" _He is a good boy," Veronique responded. "Now what would you have me draw for you?"_

" _You have spoken with Mlle. DuBois?_

" _Yes, I have the likeness she guided here – one of the full body and the other a portrait." Pointing to her own desk next to the small curtained window, set up with a small easel, several sheets of paper and an assortment of charcoal and colored chalks in metal holders. "Would you like to see it?"_

" _When you have completed my commission." Pulling a white envelope from his wrinkled Macintosh, he opened it, pulling out a small photograph. "This was in the locket we found in Mlle. Arnault's apartment. I would ask that you reproduce it on a larger sheet of paper if that is possible."_

" _I believe I can make a good rendering," she said, taking the likeness from his hand. "Perhaps you would like to sit on the sofa and take your tea. This should not take too long, but I do not wish to rush either."_

" _Of course. Take your time."_

* * *

"I have another concern," Erik says, tapping his pen on the desk.

"Why was Monique alone in the rehearsal hall," Nadir says. "I have already spoken to Henri about that."

"You are becoming quite adept at mind-reading.

"No, I am just an efficient detective."

"Touche – and?"

"The ballet girls had gone, or so he understood from Monique – the Vicomte was with her – she excused Stephan," Nadir says. "He did not wish to create a scene."

"Monique said Nicole was gone – that she told Raoul to go home," Christine recalls. "She was alone."

"Was she?"

* * *

" _I must not get pregnant. Not after what happened with…before."_

" _There are condoms the Vicomte could use."_

" _I want to be certain. The chance of becoming pregnant, then losing the child – I cannot think of it."_

" _You lost the baby because you were beaten – he is not going to beat you."_

" _I shall have a child when I choose to have a child."_

" _There is something called a diaphragm – it is quite new."_

" _Can I get one?"_

" _Let me find out – there are some doctors…"_

" _Dr. Perdue?"_

" _No – not him."_

" _The door…Go."_

* * *

"You think Monique was meeting with Nicole?" Christine asks.

"We have no idea what is going through her head," Erik says. "Abuse leads to behavior that others may think odd, but makes total sense to the person who has been damaged."

"You, for instance?" Nadir says.

"Yes – although my case is perhaps is extreme," Erik admits. "I am not suggesting she was doing anything criminal – simply wishing to keep her own counsel – so she lied to you, my dear."

"That does not excuse our security guard leaving his post," Nadir says.

"Exactly. I have no interest in Monique's private conversations – it is unfortunate that you were not able to meet with Nicole, though."

"At the very least, Monique was reacquainted with Dr. Gerard – especially if she was trying to meet with Dr. Perdue – whomever he might be," Christine says. "Perhaps he can treat her. I know I would feel better about it."

A knock on the door interrupts their discussion.

"We shall understand more soon," Nadir says, rising from his chair to open the door. "Good morning, Edouard."

* * *

Phillippe sits in his armchair in front of the fire, a silver carafe on the chess table that separates the two chairs. His white linen shirt and dark gray trousers covered by a gray, cut-velvet dressing robe. A cup in one hand, the coffee pot in the other are held up in invitation. "Coffee, Giselle?"

"Thank you." Accepting the cup, she leans back onto the soft leather. Her day dress is fawn colored with covered buttons down the front and a lace border over the double skirt and cuffs. "One could become accustomed to this," she says, picking up a sweet roll and taking a bite.

"Yes, I am afraid I am used to it – and could become easily accustomed to your presence – making it all the more pleasant."

"I should be leaving," she says, taking a sip from her cup. "There is a performance this evening and II must go to work at the theater."

"Yes, I suppose that is true – I shall have Francois secure the coach for you." Rising, he goes to pull the bell chord. "Shall we have dinner afterwards?"

"I feel as though I should go to my own home tonight." Dabbing her mouth with a napkin, she returns the cup to the tray.

"Why – you have your own space here – the flat must be crowded with the woman and boy…" he says, striding back to the seating area, his arms wide illustrating the expanse of the home.

"They are my family and this, well, this, while lovely, is uncomfortable for me."

"You are not being compromised."

"And yet, that is what people will say and think."

Standing next to her armchair, resting his hand on the back, he says, "I thought you cared little for the opinion of others."

"That is what I believed – but it turns out to be untrue."

"May I at least have a parting kiss – if you are going to refuse me your company tonight." He offers his hand to help her up from the chair. As she stands, he wraps an arm around her, lifting her chin, barely brushes his lips against hers.

Pulling away, pressing her hand to her mouth. "Oh, my."

"What?"

She shakes her head, tears form in her deep brown eyes.

"Seriously, Giselle – what is wrong? It was a simple kiss – I meant no insult."

Bowing her head, she murmurs, "I have never been kissed before."

Holding her close to him, he says, "Had I known, I should have made it more of an event for you. Dinner and dancing, with a discreet bouquet of violets at the very least."

"You do not think that your attention to me is not an event?"

He throws back his head and laughs. "You are always so full of surprises." His response is gentle. "Your presence in my life is an event as well."

Their eyes meet and hold – they lean into one another, tilting their heads.

The intimacy is disrupted by the opening door. Kissing her gently on the forehead instead, he calls, "Come in, Francois. Please have the carriage prepared for Mademoiselle Beauchamp."

"It is not Francois." Raoul enters, dressed in a brown plaid morning suit, carrying a bowler hat. "Good morning, Giselle," he says, eyeing her gown. "Would the Mademoiselle care to share the ride?"

The observation of Giselle's dress does not go unnoticed by Phillippe. "It is one of your sister Catherine's layover gowns – one of perhaps twenty that fill the armoire in the guest bedroom."

Raoul shrugs. "We could open an Emporium with all the dresses accumulating in this mausoleum. I say let her take the lot. Catherine has grown too heavy to wear them and Georgette's tastes are far more extreme for her to care if they go missing."

"Well, there you have it, Giselle – you are welcome to any and all female clothing and other accouterments you may discover in your room – whenever you choose to make use of it."

"That is most kind – but, I cannot," she says, blushing.

"I agree, you should have your own gowns, but we can discuss that later," Phillippe says. "So, brother, you are going to see Monique?"

"Yes – is that a problem?"

"Not at all," Phillippe responds. "I was simply wondering when you were going to deal with the letter you received yesterday."

"A letter?" Giselle questions. "About the baby."

"There was no letter – just an envelope with BeBe de Chagny written on the front with a blank sheet within."

"You have not advised Inspector Marquand?" Giselle presses.

"He does not think that it means anything," Phillippe interjects.

"What am I supposed to do, Phillippe? Please instruct me on what I am supposed to do," Raoul cries. "My child – at least I think it is my child, is being held and all we have is a blank sheet of paper after a week's time." He rubs his eyes with his sleeve.

Giselle retrieves a napkin from the tray with the coffee service and offers it to him. "We must take this to the Inspector or at the very least to Messrs. Erik and Nadir."

"Listen to her, Raoul – if you will not listen to me. Her firm is working on this – you do not know how much has already been discovered and this might help." Phillippe moves over to his brother, putting an arm over his shoulder.

"Very well."

"We should go to the office – I suspect Monique is already at the theater," Giselle says. "Madame always calls early rehearsal on performance days."

Raoul nods.

"I have some business I must attend to – then I shall join you," Phillippe says.

Francois appears at the door. "You rang?"

"Yes, Francois. Please call for the coach – le Vicomte and Mlle. Beauchamp need transport to the Palais Garnier.

"Oui, M. le Comte."

Pressing a kiss on Giselle's cheek, with a pat to Raoul's back, Phillippe watches them follow the butler from the library. Closing the door, he walks to his desk and opens the lap drawer removing an envelope.

* * *

" _This was in the morning post, M. le Comte."_

" _Thank you, Francois," Phillippe said, taking the envelope from his butler. "Is the Vicomte aware of this?"_

" _No, monsieur."_

" _Good – thank you." After a quick slit to the edge of the stationary with a carved ivory letter opener, he removed a single sheet of paper folded in half._

" _500,000 francs – varied currency._

 _Instructions to follow._

 _The police need not know about this."_

* * *

"Messieurs, Madame – good morning," Inspector Marquand says, removing his crushed Homburg. "My wife insisted I wear this today because of the damp weather. I attempted to tell her my hair would dry faster than the wool in this hat, but found it best not to argue with her."

Erik side-eyes Christine, who smirks.

"You have even more wisdom than I already believed possible, Edouard," Nadir chuckles. "Our friend here is still in training as a husband."

"You will find your life infinitely better when you follow the lead of your lady – they tend to be correct much," he risks a look at Christine, who is laughing outright, " _most_ of the time."

"I have always been an apt and able student," Erik says, rising from his chair. "Can I offer you some tea – we tend not to drink coffee – I apologize."

"Tea is fine," Marquand says, as he removes a cigar from his pocket."

Erik raises an eyebrow, looking toward Christine.

Catching the exchange, Marquand says, "Oh, I never smoke them, but I am permitted to hold them – for my health, she says." He unrolls the tube of paper tucked under his arm – revealing three drawings. "May I?" He sets the sketches on the desk.

Erik and Nadir move their papers aside to make room to spread them out.

A light knock on the door precedes Giselle and Raoul's entrance.

"Come," Nadir says, turning around to re-rolling the drawings, before aligning himself with Erik and Marquand – their backs to the desk.

"We have news," Giselle announces, pulling Raoul along. Ignoring Erik and Nadir, she says, "Inspector, I am so happy to see you – to see all of you here." Skirting her eyes past Erik, she smiles broadly at Christine, who nods in response.

Inspector Marquand focuses his attention on Raoul, extending his hand. "M. le Vicomte, how are you faring?"

"Not well – and yourself?" Raoul places the envelope in the Inspector's hand. "My brother and Giselle insist this has meaning."

"What is it?" Marquand takes the envelope and pulls out the blank sheet of paper, holding it up. "Interesting."

"A foreward?" Erik suggests. Looking over his shoulder.

"When did this arrive?" Nadir asks, taking the note from Marquand, waving it at Raoul.

"Yesterday's post."

"And you are just now letting us know?" Nadir says.

"I thought it irrelevant."

"Raoul?" Christine exclaims. "Everyone is working to help find your child and you withhold information?"

"There is nothing written on the paper," he growls.

"It was likely a test run – would it get delivered? At what time would it be delivered?" Nadir says.

"And possibly – how would you respond?" Erik says.

"I am once again the idiot, the fool," Raoul says, flopping down on the sofa adjacent to Nadir's chair. "Phillippe insisted I bring this to your attention – I told him the morning was soon enough. I was on my way here when Giselle insisted on coming along."

Giselle's brow furrows.

"Was there a post today?" Marquand asks.

"Not that I am aware of…"

"Yes. There was," Giselle interrupts. "I am sorry to be rude, but I saw Francois take the post into the library as I was coming down for coffee."

Erik coughs. Christine's face exhibits no emotion. Nadir grins.

Bolder than his hosts, Marquand says, "You were at the de Chagny home this morning,"

Giselle lowers her eyes. "I had supper with M. le Comte last evening, and…" Lifting her chin, she continues, "… _that_ is none of your business. Yes, I was there this morning, as I said." With that remark, she joins Raoul on the settee, smoothing her skirt, folding her hands in her lap.

Christine's blank face breaks into a grin. "Brava," she says, under her breath.

Another knock on the door. "What is this? Are we expecting someone else?" Nadir looks at Erik, who shakes his head.

"My brother, most likely. He indicated he would join me after running some sort of errand," Raoul says. "Come in, brother – join the destruction of what little character I have left."

Christine looks away, shaking her head. Erik sits down at the desk. Nadir rolls his eyes, taking a chair to open up more floor space – adding his own, "Come in," to Raoul's invitation.

Phillippe removes his top hat as he enters, a large black leather satchel held in his other hand. A scan of the room for Giselle brings a smile when he observes her watching him. "Good day, everyone," he says, "I apologize for interrupting your meeting – actually arriving late – as I hoped to participate at its inception."

"The meeting has been rife with disruptive elements, your arrival simply adds to the mix," Erik says. "What have you in the satchel, cousin?"

Raoul frowns.

Marquand raises an eyebrow. "Cousin?"

Phillippe chuckles as he sets the suitcase down. "A longish story, but, yes – we are cousins."

"The joys of being a detective – discovering so many of the mysteries of life," he says, waving his cigar. "What do you have for us – besides the aforementioned suitcase?"

"It would seem my little surprise has been disclosed," he says, winking at Giselle.

Her shoulders raise in a shrug. "I saw Francois with the post."

"Very well, then." He hands the envelope – once again addressed to BeBe de Chagny – to Marquand. "A ransom note. The case contains the sum requested."

"How much?" Raoul asks.

"500,000 francs."

"What funds are you using?"

"Bonds – family owned – so yours, mine and our sisters – the child is Chagny."

"And carried it here, unprotected?"

"I felt the odds were in my favor – both in terms of being robbed and being followed."

"Nevertheless," Nadir says.

"Well, I it appears I was correct – so let us not argue the point."

"You may well have been followed," Nadir argues.

"My driver and cabriolet are both quite efficient."

"No instructions," Marquand says, handing the letter to Erik, who scans the note, then pushes it across the desk to Nadir.

"The cursive writing suggests someone who is educated," Nadir mutters. "Black ink – nothing odd in that."

"The stationery is quality," Erik adds. "However, it does appear that we must wait for another post at minimum. Perhaps it is time to view the drawings created to identify Dr. Perdue."

Nadir stands to once again unroll the three sketches, placing them next to one another.

Christine, stands behind Erik's chair, her arm on his shoulder. Giselle takes a place next to Phillippe with Raoul positioning himself between her and Nadir.

"Veronique is indeed most gifted at portraiture," Christine says as she examines each print.

"It is as you suspected, Erik," Nadir says.

"Two different men," Marquand concurs.

"I know him," Raoul says – pointing to the drawing created from the photograph.

* * *

" _Raoul! . .gny!"_

" _German? It seems ages since university – you appear well and well off."_

" _Good blood and good investments."_

" _Did you continue your studies?"_

" _I did – and you?"_

" _What was intended – my family is military, so I shall likely take a naval commission soon."_

" _A theater buff?"_

" _This is actually my first visit – I prefer musical entertainment."_

" _You will then be pleasantly surprised. There is a young woman in this production who is quite brilliant."_

" _That was not my intention in coming here."_

" _Of course not. Still…"_

* * *

"German…Berber-Perdue. Not just Perdue." Raoul bends forward, pounding his fist on the desk. "Ego-laden piece of tripe."

Giselle puts an arm on Raoul's back, looking to Phillippe.

"What is it," Phillippe says, taking her place as she steps away.

"I had no idea he was a doctor, he did not specify the manner of his further studies," Raoul says, his face pale. "He arranged my meeting with Marie-Corrinne that night at the Comedie Francaise."

"Had you seen him before that – in other social settings?" Marquand asks.

Raoul nods. "No – only at school, he was ahead of me – tutored science – the meeting that night was by happenstance," he says. "I made an idle comment that I thought she was beautiful – next thing I knew, he was introducing us."

"Any communication since?"

"Early on – before I bought the apartment. He would hold up a glass in a toast and smirk when he saw me, or the two of us together, after the performances. Nothing recently."

"Berber-Perdue?" Marqaund asks.

"Yes – that is how I knew him. The name Perdue did not register with me – I am so sorry."

"I suppose we are fortunate he used any part of his real name," Nadir says. He pushes a pad of paper and pencil towards Raoul. "Write down as much as you know of him – however, long ago."

Raoul nods – taking the pad back to the settee to begin writing.

"Is the family name familiar to you, M. le Comte?" Marquand asks.

Phillippe shakes his head, no. "Although I shall go through my business files. I would have no first-hand knowledge of Raoul's school friends." He joins Raoul on the couch, extending his hand to Giselle that she join them.

"See anything interesting, M. Saint-Rien?"

"These are not two men," Erik says – shifting the drawings so the two drawings from Monique's description are next to one another.

Marquand frowns.

"The shape of the body – tallish, but thin shoulders, arms and legs, but this bulge," illustrating to what he refers with a finger, "is not a belly. Bound bosoms, I should think."

Christine tugs on his sleeve. "Erik – the jaw – the eyes as well, but the jaw, primarily?"

Raising his head, turning to look up at her, he says, "Yes, I believe so."

"What?" They all want to know.

"I know her," Christine says. "Or rather, I…we have seen her."

"Who is she?" Marquand asks.

"Marie-Corrinne's chaperone at Dr. Gerard's office," Erik says.


	15. Identification

The gloom outside the window is mirrored in the office of Phantom Security despite the light from the brass lamps set both sides of the partners' desk and floor lamps situated behind the settees. A gas heater curbs some of the chill, but the room is still cool. Christine, in her favorite blue cambric day dress with a crocheted capelet of a deeper blue covering her shoulders, sits on the settee closest to Erik's desk, knitting soft wool into what will be a pink blanket.

"You are certain we will be receiving a daughter?" Erik says, caught up in the hypnotic effect of the clacking needles and the quick movement of her nibble fingers.

"Your words earlier today suggested you believe the same," she replies, smiling up at him, holding the piece up for his approval.

Inspector Marquand, sitting on the opposite sofa, having removed his wrinkled Macintosh to reveal an equally wrinkled morning suit, looks up from his note pad and says, "Madame Christine, your husband is developing the skills to be a happy husband – as we addressed earlier."

"I can vouch for that," Nadir adds, opening one eye, waking from his doze. "In past days, he would argue the color of the sky."

"That is just rubbish," Erik says, tossing piece of paper, rolled into a ball, at his friend."

"I rest my case," Nadir smirks.

The Inspector laughs.

"I can always give it to Meg if my sense proves to be incorrect – she will go into her dotage wearing pink."

The camaraderie of the small group is a welcome respite to dealing with the challenges of this case. The temper of the room quieted with the exit of the Chagny's. A peaceful calm settles on each of them as they once again retreat to their own thoughts.

The door opens, Dr. Gerard pokes his head in. "May I come in?" He steps fully into the room, removing his Homburg and cape, hanging them on the coat rack.

"Thank you for coming to the office, Dr. Gerard, I hope this was not a great inconvenience to you or your patients," Erik says, rising from his seat. "Please take a seat – would you care for tea?"

"I'll take care of it – I am closer to the armoire – and you are still recovering. Sit," Nadir says, motioning Erik to keep his place.

"There is no inconvenience – my patient had just left," the doctor says, taking a seat next to Christine. "Madame, what a beautiful piece of work.

"Thank you. It keeps me occupied and creates value at the same time."

"Edouard, you look ragged as usual – I assume you are well."

Inspector Gerard laughs. "The wife does what she can, but I am one of those people who has pottery fall from shelves when I walk by. It was my good fortune to have an organized mind to balance my exterior – and a wife who does not seem to mind picking up after me."

"Cream? Sugar?" Nadir asks.

"Please."

Marquand lifts a sketch from the desk and carries it to the settee, handing it to the doctor.

Gerard takes the large sheet of paper. "Berber – this is Dr. Berber. He performs most of the Caesarian sections, teaching other doctors the procedure. He also trains midwives in birthing techniques using instruments – too often, in the past, they were used improperly…" Gerard says, squinting at the drawing, then his eyebrows rise in recognition.

Nadir sets his tea down on the coffee table. "What is it? Do you remember something?" he asks, returning to the desk. "Did you have personal contact with him?"

He slaps the side of his forehead. "Of course, it was he who spoke to me about Dr. Perdue."

"It would seem he _is_ Dr. Perdue." Erik allows his statement to sink in for a moment. "His name is German Berber-Perdue."

Christine places a hand on the doctor's arm.

Marquand hands him the full scale drawing of Madame Laurence as Dr. Perdue. "And this person?"

Gerard shakes his head, still processing what Erik just revealed. "I do not know him."

"Look closely," Nadir says. "Disregard the clothing."

The doctor studies the portrait more carefully. "This is not a man, is it?"

"No," Marquand replies handing him the portrait of Mme. Laurence based on Erik and Christine's description.

The blue eyes squint, his hand following the shape of the face. "The woman with Mlle. Arnault – I do not recall her name." He looks up at them. "What is the significance of this other drawing – the costume?"

"Her family name appears to be Laurence – this was a description given us of Dr. Perdue," Erik explains.

"Well, that is certainly interesting, to put it mildly." Putting the drawings down, he picks up his cup and takes a sip of tea, then puts it down again. "Might you have anything stronger?"

* * *

"You must return to the Palais," Isabella Laurence tells her daughter. The skirt of her dull brown taffeta dress, swishes as she putters about, straightening picture frames and small statuary. Despite the day's darkness, peering through the small window, a small lamp lights the décor of the room – fabrics glimmer with gold threads reflecting light and pale yellow walls give an illusion of space. Isabella spent her money on finer second-hand furniture with good lines and used shawls and multi-colored pillows to make the sitting room hospitable.

"I am concerned I am being watched." Sitting at the simply carved wooden table, she warms her hands with the mug she sips from, breathing in the rich fragrance of café au lait.

"That is ridiculous – you are merely feeling guilty – the conversation with Monique meant nothing," Isabella says, "If you do not appear, there _will_ be suspicion."

"I was the contact for those girls."

"So what? You did nothing wrong. Once given _Dr. Perdue's_ address, you were relieved of responsibility for their actions – which, by the way, were not illegal." Isabella stares at her daughter. "What is it you want me to do?"

"Give the baby to his father. I want my life back again."

"In due time." Isabella chucks her daughter on the chin. "We shall have everything we ever dreamed of – travel, a lovely home – no more taking orders from officious doctors and administrators."

"My only dream is to dance." She takes her empty cup to the small kitchen.

Isabella follows and pours herself a cup of coffee, eschewing the milk. Taking a loaf of bread and round of cheese from the larder, she prepares herself a sandwich. "You shall – we can create an anonymous patron to encourage the management to utilize you more often."

Nicole's shoulders sag. Cutting herself a slice of the cheese, she takes a bite, then tosses the rest on the counter, she says, "Monique wants a diaphragm – I told her I would ask."

"Did she ask for Dr. Perdue?"

"Yes, but I told her no."

"Why?"

"After Marie-Corrinne's death, I did not think Dr. Perdue would continue seeing patients.

"Patients die all the time."

"But we took her – she did not want to come with us."

Isabella shrugs.

"Were you there…when she died?"

A sly smile crosses Isabella's face. "Dr. Perdue always found me to be very apt assistant."

* * *

" _Isabella, this is perfect. We shall both be wealthy. We will find the women who wish to give up their babies and I will find families. Your daughter's position at the Palais Garnier will provide a wealth of clients. You can tend to the births – if there are difficult ones, I shall do the surgeries."_

" _What sort of percentage do I get?"_

" _I thought a fee system would be the best."_

" _What does that mean – I get a certain amount, no matter what you collect? What about nourrices? Aftercare for the new mother?"_

" _There are so many unused spaces at the Maternite – we shall find a niche – only a few rooms would be needed."_

" _What about the consultations?"_

" _A number of doctors have offered their offices one day a week for that sort of thing. I cannot be seen soliciting women give their babies over. You can have your herbs, solicit your midwifery and whatever other services you provide."_

" _There is nothing wrong with my other services."_

" _Madame – my interest is in making money from living babies that people are willing to pay for. There is a large market – wealthy women fearful of the birth process will pay large sums for newborn infants. That is what I need you for. In exchange for that assistance, you will have a place to do business – plus a substantial fee."_

* * *

"I suppose I am just jumpy." Nicole rubs her arms. "I wish it would stop raining – I feel cold all the time now."

The older woman passes through a sheer curtain to her bedroom, returning with a navy wool hooded cape for Nicole. "Put this on, it is heavier than your cloak."

"Is there someone I can refer Monique to – she was very concerned? I worry for her."

"You said Gerard was at the Garnier – that he treated her after the shooting. Have her ask him," Isabella says. "Damned doctors interfering in woman's business."

"Women still want midwives – most births only need midwives," Nicole says. "You also have your herbs to help. Things were going so well with Dr. Perdue." Pulling the cape around her, Nicole opens the door to leave. "Why did Marie-Corrinne have to die?"

The three men rise as Veronique enters the room with her drawing pad and a small satchel containing her drawing pencils and chalks. Dr. Gerard having excused himself to return to his office.

"Please, sit here – if that would be comfortable for you," Erik says as he moves to the sofa next to Christine.

Veronique nods. "I am pleased that you find my work useful," she says, placing her supplies on the desk. Gathering the skirt of the blue dress gifted to her by Christine around her, she slides into Erik's chair. "What would you have me draw now?"

"Erik and I saw a woman at Dr. Gerard's office we believe might be involved in the kidnapping and the murders," Christine says. "Should I start, Erik – or would you…"

"Since you suggested this, I would say you might wish to begin, however, I had a bit more time to observe her physical person. You will likely be better at filling in the sense of the woman and her emotion than I."

"So you want to go first?"

"Yes."

"I admire his growing aptitude more and more, Nadir," Marquand smirks, pulling out a cigar as he slouches onto the couch, crossing his legs.

"Christine is an excellent teacher," Nadir responds, covering his mouth with his hand.

Erik rolls his eyes. "You _are_ aware I can hear you?"

"Excellent at teaching what?" Adele asks, entering the room, closing the door behind her. "There you are, Veronique – I saw your note and wondered what this was about." Noticing Marquand, she greets him. "Inspector."

"Christine is teaching Erik how to be a good husband," Nadir says. "I am certain that much of her education was acquired from watching you."

"Are you saying you are a good husband…to be?" She walks over to the daroga, bussing his cheek.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he says, "Doing my best, dear lady."

"Well, you are correct," she says, stepping away, arms akimbo, surveying the assemblage in the room. "Now that we have done away with the frivolity – may I ask, seriously, why Veronique is here?"

"I requested she create a portrait of the woman M. and Mme. Saint-Rien saw in Dr. Gerard's office," Marquand says. "Our cast of characters gets larger and smaller at the same time."

Adele's eyes narrow, her head tips to one side, assessing his response. "I believe I see – you think she is the kidnapper?"

"That, and possibly more," he replies. "We wish to see the portrait first and then make further assumptions."

"Then I shall leave you to your investigating," Adele says, turning to leave. "Do not rush, Veronique…"

"Please stay, Madame – I'm certain the corps de ballet are rehearsing and the books can wait to be kept," Christine says.

"Yes, Nicole is acting as dance mistress – I cannot tell you how distressed I am at her involvement in this."

"So she is here?" Erik asks.

"Of course, whatever else she may be about – she is a dancer," she sniffs. "She likely does not realize you suspect her of anything."

* * *

"Did you have any success finding a doctor who could help me?" Monique asks Nicole as they dip the toes of their shoes in the rosin box.

"Why not ask the doctor that was with La Daae? I recall he was here when the shooting…oh, I am sorry – I did not mean…"

"Yes – Dr. Gerard – I suppose I could," she says. "They wanted to talk to you about creating a charity to help girls needing female help…since you have been doing the work already."

"I wonder whose idea that was – no one seemed interested before – the girls could have died before anyone cared – send them off with a patron, but God forbid they come back with a disease or pregnant with a child they cannot care for."

Giving over the rosin to some of the other ballet girls, they walk to the barre, Nicole taking Monique's hand.

Monique smiles, swinging their hands. "Madame Christine is with child – it has not been formally announced, but the wardrobe ladies have been altering her costumes and making new ones to accommodate her body changes. I suspect that might be the reason."

"She is a patient of Dr. Gerard's?"

Monique shrugs. "He treated M. Erik, perhaps she consulted with him, too."

Reaching the mirrored wall, they watch themselves dancing a brief routine from the opera.

"Timing is a bit off – we were not synchronized to one another," Nicole says. "I am stiff from the cold." She moves to the barre and does some basic warm-up positions as Monique continues with the choreography.

"They would have gone to his office – even if it was just the monsieur," Nicole says.

"I suppose."

"The shooting was on a Tuesday?"

"I think so, yes – I really try not to think about it – I am sorry." The movements of her dance become more determined and precise – feet cutting the air, fingers creating their own dance.

"It is I who should apologize."

"Perhaps you could come with me to see him. I could express my needs and you might speak to him about the charity."

Nicole loses focus. "Yes, that sounds fine. Arrange an appointment," she says, stopping her warm-up. "I just remembered an errand I must run before rehearsal – could you lead the troupe for an hour?'

Monique stops cold. "Me?"

"Of course, you are the best dancer here – particularly with all the extra time you have been spending on the barre," she says, running off to the dressing rooms. "I shall return shortly."

"Nicole! Oh, dear." The ballet girls are standing around chatting, showing not even the pretense of interest in dancing. Clapping her hands sharply, she says in the firmest voice she can muster, "Attende, attende – to the barre – plies – all five positions hands and feet. Now."

* * *

Veronique completes the sketch – showing it to Erik and Christine for their approval.

"Excellent," Erik says. "Christine?"

"Yes, you captured her energy – I remembered the jaw-line, but there was something so hard about her eyes. I wish we could have known…"

Erik places his arm around her shoulders.

"May I see the drawing?" Marquand asks.

"Of course," Erik says, putting it down on the desk, next to the others.

Adele peers over his shoulder. "That is Nicole's mother."

"You know her?" Nadir asks.

"No – but I have seen her once or twice – she does not come often. I recall seeing her last week – during one of the performances, Friday or Saturday – I am not sure which."

"What do you know of her – if anything?" Marquand asks, pulling out his notepad, returning to the settee.

Adele sits down on the sofa nearest Nadir. Holding her cane in front of her, she clasps her hands and rests them on the carved knob. "I believe she is a nurse. Nicole said she was employed at the Maternite hospital."

"Does Nicole live with her mother?" Christine asks. "Monique said she stayed with her when she returned."

"No, Nicole lives with some other girls." Adele shakes her head. "I felt they did not get along. The few times the mother came her, they quarreled – at least it seemed that way to me."

* * *

" _I cannot help you with that, Maman."_

" _This is more than just helping with female problems – we can make money – a lot of money."_

" _That is insane – asking a girl to give up months of her life."_

" _There would be work after that as well. Some of these rats will never be regulars – this is good money for very little work, in addition to support."_

" _Fine, but only if I am approached by someone who believes she is with child."_

" _No, you will ask the girls you think might be willing – the poorer girls, the least talented. Give them the opportunity to decide."_

* * *

"What do you suppose Mme. Laurence was asking her daughter to do, Madame?" Marquand asks.

"I did not give it much thought, Inspector." Abandoning her thoughtful position, she sits up straight, her back stiff, face blank. "I was ballet mistress, not governess." Her lips tremble.

"Adele?" Nadir says, rising from his chair, sitting next to her on the settee, placing his arm around her. "What is it?"

Tears flows unheeded down her cheeks – a sob escapes her throat. Turning to him, she throws her arms around his neck. "I have been so thoughtless – first Monique and the kidnappings – now this."

Christine rushes over, kneeling at her feet, "Madame, you have done nothing wrong."

"I did nothing. That was wrong."

"Girls leave the corps de ballet all the time – you cannot know everything about them," Erik says.

"For many, I was all they had."

"Stop it – you had Meg and Christine as your daughters," Nadir says, rocking her gently.

"What is it you believe was happening, Madame?" Marquand asks, his voice low and steady.

Veronique clears her throat.

"What is it, Veronique?" Erik asks.

"Nicole was asking the girls to become pregnant." Bowing her head, wringing her hands in her lap. "They were told someone would buy the babies. If the father was a patron or a noble – that was all the better." Sighing deeply, she continues, "After giving birth, they could work as nourrices – wet nurses for other babies. Some of the cleaners were approached, too. Not many, because most of us were not attractive to the patrons, but the offer was there if someone became with child."

"I suppose I turned a blind eye because it seemed a way out for them – it was not until the body of this Marie-Corrinne appeared that it seemed to be harmful," Adele says. "Now, I wish I had interfered."

"That aligns with my belief that this Berber-Perdue fellow had some sort of business," Erik says.

"The dead women?" Marquand asks.

"If I were to guess, our Mme. Laurence decided to branch out on her own," Erik says.

"As Dr. Perdue?" Christine asks.

"Likely she was always Dr. Perdue," Nadir opines. "Mid-wife – delivered the infants, tended to them – another girl being brought in as wet nurse – until Berber found homes. A regular baby factory."

"The deaths?" Christine asks. "I thought Dr. Berber did the surgeries.

"Berber was supposed to do any difficult births, but, my guess is Mme. Laurence would lose a fee if he delivered the baby – so she began doing the caesarians herself. Berber would have no way of knowing."

"And now he appears to missing," Marquand says.

"Marie-Corrinne believed she was going to see Berber when she made the appointment with Perdue – so he was lying to her as well," Christine says.

"It would appear their contact with one another lessened," Erik says.

"I shall check her diary to see if there is a date we can connect this to," Marquand says, getting up and walking to the desk, gathering up the sketches and rolling them into a tube. "Mme. Dupree, you are most gifted – the information you have provided is very significant as well. I thank you."

"Will you have someone check with the hospital as well?" Nadir asks. "I could have Darius take care of that?"

"No, I think they would be more receptive and responsive to an official inquiry," Marquand says. "Doctors do tend to protect one another. Even our good Dr. Gerard became uncomfortable with the direction this inquiry has been going. He was likely relieved a mere nurse is our suspect now."

Adele rises from the sofa, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "I must check on the crew – we do have a performance tonight. Would it be helpful to make inquiries of the rats?"

"No, Madame Giry," Marquand replies. "At this point it might raise more questions than answers."

"Very well," she says. "Veronique, let us go and put the fear of the devil into the laggards."

Veronique giggles, "I appreciate your comment that I might be a source of fear to anyone. My son, however, is quite another story – he has now been initiated by the staff to fetch refreshments. I should like to put a stop to that."

"The boy is working harder than anyone else I can think of – even myself," Erik says. "Is he at least getting compensation?"

"At the moment, he is settling for bribes consisting of treats," Veronique says. "However, knowing Andre, he will tire of that and will be asking for francs. He is quite the businessman – I should watch out for your jobs Monsieurs."

"Perhaps I should be cautious as well," Adele chuckles, rubbing her assistant's shoulder. "He is becoming quite the dancer – he needs only to learn to pound the floor with a staff and growl at appropriate moments."

"If you continue to smile and look so beautiful doing so – no one will believe you are the fierce Madame we all know and love," Nadir says, rising to give her a kiss on the cheek and walks the women to the door.

* * *

"Maman," Nicole calls, pushing open the door to the flat. Bracing against the door once closed, she takes a moment to catch her breath.

"What is it – my head feels as though it will burst – I must get some sleep." Isabella calls out, holding an arm over her eyes. "Why did you come back? You were dancing, I thought."

"You took Marie-Corrinne to Dr. Gerard, correct?" Nicole finds her mother lying fully dressed on the narrow bed. The heavy blue curtains block any light from the window – the only illumination comes through the doorway.

"Not exactly, she scheduled an appointment with Dr. Perdue – she had that list of where he would be on any given day – one of the documents I hoped you would find when you searched her apartment. She sent a post – he was not there, so Dr. Gerard saw her…us. Her determination proved to be helpful. Dr. Gerard believed she had come to term – or near enough for the surgery."

"You mean for Dr. Berber to perform the surgery…if necessary?" Nicole presses.

"Of course – only if necessary. He used both names – Berber – Perdue – both were his." Isabella struggles to rise from the bed. Stumbling to the dresser, she pours herself a glass of water from the ceramic pitcher.

"I am confused – the description I heard Monique give for Dr. Perdue is nothing like Dr. Berber." Nicole folds her arms in front of her.

"Monique spoke of him?"

Nicole nods. "Meg Giry wanted to know if he was handsome – or some such. I did not recognize the person being described."

"Why did you not say anything sooner?" Isabella grabs her shoulders – shaking her.

"I did. You keep saying that they are the same person. Are they? It does not seem so to me." Pulling away from her mother's grasp, she stumbles back against the vanity.

Isabella steps back, straightening her bodice before tucking stray hairs into her bun. "She was obviously mistaken – perhaps she was describing a nurse or midwife."

Nicole regains her balance, quirking an eyebrow.

Isabella raises her own eyebrow in response. "Doctors _do_ tend to have attendants when examining patients."

Nicole sighs and moves on. "Did you see anyone at Dr. Gerard's office?"

"A man and a woman, I presume was his wife. His arm was in a sling, I believe." She returns to the bed to sit down.

"Anything else?" Nicole's paces the room, nostrils flare, eyes spearing her mother.

"She was very pretty, somewhat distressed looking – no doubt from having a man other than her husband touching her," Isabella snorts.

"What about _him_?"

"Tall, dark clothing – the sling, as I mentioned – an odd plaid. He kept his head turned away, tipped his hat when leaving. Strange, but I have seen stranger."

"Did he wear a mask?"

"A mask – like those the injured soldiers wear?

" _Any_ mask?"

"I truly do not recall. Marie-Corrinne was out of control – I was not paying much attention." Isabella brushes the air with a flick of her fingers.

Nicole groans.

"What, daughter?"

"I believe that the couple were M. and Mme. Saint-Rien – the artistic director at the Palais and La Daae, his wife. He is a private investigator as well."

"So – what does that have to do with us?"

"They saw you with Marie-Corrinne." Nicole digs her nails into her palms. "I have heard that the Inspector of Police was there – also the Comte and Vicomte."

"You said they were patronizing women there – this Monique and another."

"Dr. Gerard and La Daae came to see me yesterday – about a charity for the work with the girls." Her voice rises in pitch.

"What do _you_ think they want?" Isabella asks, folding her hands in her lap.

"I do not know – I am confused and afraid, Maman. We have to give the baby back. We have to stop this." Her face screws up, ready to burst into tears. Plopping down on the vanity bench, she chews on her thumbnail.

"I am taking care of that – do not worry. No one knows who we are – we are simple, nondescript women." Rising from the bed, she walks to her daughter, patting her cheek. "Except for when you dance – that is when there is magic."

Nicole's lips crease into the ghost of a smile – her eyes search her mother's. "Have you any news about Marcelle?"

"No," she says, shaking her head, lips pursed. "I am afraid he may not have survived his interaction with the police."

Nicole closes her eyes and makes the sign of the cross, she says, "I must return to the theater. Go back to bed, I am sorry I disturbed you." A vague wave is her good-bye as she exits the bedroom.

Isabella cocks her head and smiles. "You are such a good daughter." The front door clicks shut. Waiting a moment to assure herself Nicole has gone, she removes the brown dress and exchanges it for one of grey linen with a white pinafore. Her navy cloak loaned to Nicole, she chooses a plain black cape of simple wool with brass buttons, pinning a pleated nurse's cap to her head.

* * *

"No one has mentioned the man who was shot," Erik says. "Did he survive the shooting?"

Marquand nods.

* * *

" _Why were you at that apartment?"_

" _Robbery."_

" _Yes, you said that. Why that particular apartment?"_

" _I saw her one night, she had a necklace – two large stones – would bring a good price."_

" _It would seem that you chose a most challenging target."_

" _I wanted the necklace."_

" _How did you know she was not home?"_

" _No lights for a few nights."_

" _So you were watching the apartment?"_

" _Yes."_

" _To steal a necklace?"_

" _Yes."_

* * *

"He is in hospital – a shoulder wound," Marquand says.

"Right or left?" Nadir asks.

Marquand frowns. "Right – why?"

"They seem to be fashionable," Nadir says, tilting his head toward Erik.

"Bad shooters or unstable guns – fortunately for me." Erik sniffs. "Which is why I prefer my lasso."

Christine's eyes grow large, grabbing his arm, she whispers in his ear, "Why bring that up?"

"Lasso?" Marquand asks.

"Yes," Erik says, pulling the catgut from his pocket. "Not a noose – nooses are for theatrics – not to be used as weapons." His hand finds Christine's to gently squeeze her fingers.

"May I?" Marquand holds out his hand.

Erik assesses the small man, nondescript in many ways, from his unruly hair and the stubble on his chin to the rumpled clothing. Smiling, he hands over the garrote.

Examining the looped wire, Marquand releases it, allowing it to drop to full length with the piece of silver attached to either end. "You throw this?"

"Yes, it is a very efficient tool."

Coiling the lasso, Marquand returns it, his eyes focus on Erik's, the ghost of a smirk curving his thin lips. "For self-defense, I presume?"

"Of course," Erik says, cocking his head, returning it to his pocket.

"So, he is not talking?" Nadir asks.

"We stopped asking questions – he will only say he wanted to steal the garnet locket. The physicians say his health is failing – nothing from the injury, but he is seems to be dying from something internal. The plan is to speak to him one more time – if he understands his fate, he may offer something."

"The locket? The one Meybel told us about?" Christine asks.

"Yes," Marquand says. "What is odd, though, the burglars said nothing about a locket when they were searching the flat just after the kidnapping."

"Perhaps they thought she had it with her," Christine says. "If it was a symbol of love, she likely wore it all the time." She touches the aquamarine charm that hangs around her neck, smiling at Erik.

"Madame Laurence had to know about it – probably told him to find the locket when they were looking for the papers," Erik suggests.

"Meybel said that Marie-Corrinne tore the necklace off. I think that she was angry with Dr. Perdue – something bad happened between them."

"Yes, so it would seem," Marquand says.

"Do we know when Raoul agreed to take the baby," Nadir asks. "The timing is likely to be significant."

"I really must review the diary…and check out Dr. Berber's lodgings." Sighing deeply, he stands up, retrieving his hat and Macintosh from the coat rack. "We placed some officers within the Maternite hospital as maintenance inspectors to take measure of the buildings. If Nicole entered near the laundry, there might be some clue there." Opening the door, he says, "Perhaps there will be a report when I return."

* * *

Marcelle lies in the narrow hospital bed – an ankle shackled to one of the metal railings. His blocky body, rests on rough white sheets and is covered with a gray wool blanket. A bandaged shoulder is visible from beneath the blankets. His square face is pale and the light brown eyes are bloodshot. They brighten perceptibly when he sees the tall, slim figure approach.

"Madame Laurence, I was afraid the rain would keep you away," he says. "You are the only relief I have from the boredom."

"Were the police here today?" Isabella asks, taking his hand, resting the other on his forehead. Her eyes take in the rest of the grim ward – beds identical to Marcelle's lined against both walls. Some patients cuffed to their beds, others not.

"No – no one takes interest in me but you and the nurse who checks my bandage," he says. "My body feels as though it is rotting, but no one takes heed. When I vomit, I am fortunate if the orderly cleans it up."

"So no more questioning?"

He shakes his head. "I told them I broke in to rob the apartment."

"You did not follow my instructions," she says, pacing the length of the bed.

"You have to know I am sorry for that." Tilting his chin, he indicates his shoulder and the shackles. "I told them nothing – I swear."

Isabella stops her rhythmic stride and smiles. "I believe you – you have been a good worker for me."

His eyes stare at the cracked plaster ceiling. "I am afraid of where I shall be taken now."

"Have no fear, Marcelle, you will be safe."

"I will be released? Do you think so?" His eyes brighten as they turn to her – he struggles to sit up, finally satisfied with resting on his elbows. "I would give anything to just walk around again."

Removing a brown glass bottle from her bag, she pours some amber-colored fluid into the glass at his bedside, filling the glass halfway with water. "Here, drink this – it will calm your upset."

A small frown crosses his brow, but he takes the glass and drains it. "It was sweet – I expected bitterness – the other herbs you gave me were bitter."

"There has already been too much bitterness, no? I added some honey – so bitter-sweet – easier to swallow." Replacing the stopper in the bottle, she returns it to her reticule. "You should rest easy, now."

"You are leaving?" He reaches for her hand, but she slips away. "Please stay longer. I am so lonely – and afraid."

"I cannot be seen here – I did want to check on you, though. Now I am reassured." Folding her hands in front of her, she stands smiling down at him as he falls back onto his pillow.

"You are so good – so good to the women – so kin…" His hand goes to his throat, sweat breaks out on his forehead as he begins to gag. "You…poison…why?" His breath comes in irregular gasps as his body buckles in agonal distress. The crackle in his throat his last sound.

"Rest in peace, Marcelle." Putting the glass in her reticule, she turns and leaves looking neither left nor right. Nor behind. Checking the gold filigree watch pinned to her bib, she increases her pace.

* * *

Nadir lifts his arms over his head – stretching, then bends over, twisting his head back and forth. "Too much desk work," he says. "I need to get out of this office – rain be damned." Taking his coat from the rack, he turns to Erik and Christine. "Can I bring you something to eat? I feel a need for something extravagant that I cannot prepare for myself. My Adele also appears to need a bit of pleasure."

"That would be lovely – a nice meat pie – on this gloomy day," Christine says, returning to her work on the blanket. "I am enjoying the food from that little café."

"I shall not even ask what you might like," he says to Erik.

"I love surprises," Erik smirks.

"Harrumph." Nadir takes his leave.

"You have been receiving food during the performances?" Erik asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Not meals, but I must confess, Andre has been bringing cups of cocoa and treats," she bows her head, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "I do not ask, he just shows up."

"Did he say where he got the idea?"

"No – and I did not ask," she says. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, of course not," Erik says, patting her hand. "Had I known, I should have joined you."

"Please do – he comes between Act I and Act II. It is so sweet of him."

Erik's eyes darken and his face hardens – mouth turning down. "He is indeed the sweetest child – people enjoy taking advantage of him." Putting his arm around Christine, his face softens as he fingers the pink wool. "I will most certainly visit now that I am aware of the other secret treasures of that room."

Christine laughs. "Do you like it?" she asks, holding up her work.

"Yes, I do," he says. "Pretty and warm - deceptively delicate, but I can feel the strength of knit and purl weave. Very much a representation of you."

Pressing her head against his shoulder, raising her head to kiss his chin, she sighs. "Do you think Dr. Perdue is dead?"

Erik nods. "For all his flaws, I do not think he would abandon Marie-Corrinne – or their plan."

Putting the knitting aside, she snuggles closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I hope we can get the baby back soon."

"I suspect the next post will bring some instructions," he says, resting his head against hers. "In the meantime, you shall rest and eat in preparation for another magnificent performance."

"You, too," she says, patting his stomach.

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

"Well, then, I, too."


	16. Camouflage

CAMOUFLAGE

"How is Adele?" Erik asks, taking another bite of lamb from Christine's plate.

"For a person who claims he is never hungry, you can certainly put away someone else's food," she says, pulling the dish away from him.

"Food always tastes better when someone else prepares it – you should know that – I eat everything you cook for me," he says, unbuttoning his coat to expose an expanding waistline. "I must take all my suits in for alteration."

"All right, I shall give you that. I would still like to enjoy _all_ of my own dinner."

Nadir picks up his pen and makes some notes, smiling at the back and forth between the mismatched couple sitting next to one another on the sofa enjoying the meal he brought back for them from the cafe. A man, who, by whatever whim of Allah, was born with a face so horrid his mother would not allow him to touch her – brilliant and gifted, but rejected by the world. A woman, warmly beautiful – cheerful and incredibly sweet – with the voice of an angel. Adored by her wandering minstrel father, finding herself also loved by a vicomte and the "monster" as many called him. Soul mates. All the drama funneled into a spat over a meat pie and homely chores.

"Adele is better. Work always raises her out of whatever doldrums she finds herself in."

"Work is not enough to keep one from crumbling," Christine says. "If anything too much makes things worse.

"Loneliness does that, too," Erik concedes in a whisper.

"A bit of self-reflection, my friend?" Nadir asks.

"A bit – do not get carried away thinking I have become weak-willed."

"Hardly that, you have always been too much of an egotist."

"Erik! Nadir! Enough," Christine exclaims. "We were discussing Madame and you cannot resist your verbal jousting."

"I am sorry, my dear," Erik says, picking up their dishes and placing them on the desk in front of Nadir. " _Enquiquineuse_ ," he says under his breath.

" _Petit malin_." Nadir breathes back, standing, pressing his hands on the desk – going nose to nose with Erik.

"Nigaud."

"Nigaud?" Nadir hisses. "Je suis un nigaud?"

"Not just a booby – a great booby _."_

" _Fils de pute._ After all the muddles I have extricated you from…" Nadir shakes a fist at him.

"My, my – touched a nerve, did I? Well, I suppose your last expletive is technically correct." Erik pulls back, laughing – holding his sides.

"What are you two going on about? Cursing, no doubt." Christine rises to step between them, grabbing Erik's arm, she points to the settee. "Sit down and be quiet."

Nadir smirks.

"You as well," she says, wagging a finger at him.

Both men slump in their seats, pouting.

"I can only imagine what goes on in here when no one else is around to witness – or is it more fun with an audience?" she huffs, following Erik to plop down on the settee. "So, what did they tell you at the café?'

"What do you mean?" Nadir's eyes widen.

"You had this sudden urge to have an extravagant meal after it was discussed that someone had instigated bringing refreshment to the cast and crew," Erik says. "We – my dear wife and I – thought that odd since you never like to spend money on much of anything – particularly food."

"That is not true."

"It _is_ true," Erik retorts. "The point is, did you learn anything – for example, who is funding this generosity of spirit, if that is what it is?"

"Is Andre being used as the delivery boy?" Christine asks. "I hate seeing him involved in this."

"Andre might be an asset – he has already proven to be quite a detective."

Nadir holds up the sheet of paper he has been writing on. "Notes of my discussion with the manager."

* * *

" _The boy, Andre, came in Saturday night – before the performance."_

" _Did he get anything special?"_

" _Hot chocolate – two pots. A workman gave him the money – said it was from the performers. He thought it strange because none of the performers would likely drink it. More for him!_

" _How did he make payment?"_

" _Franc notes. I thought that unusual – the crew and rats pay with coin and only for their own purchases. My guess was the managers were buying, to be honest."_

" _Not a bad idea, but no. Perhaps it can be considered."_

" _Merci. Business is good, but more is better."_

" _So last week? Both nights?_

" _No, just Saturday."_

" _Thank you."_

* * *

Erik sits back crossing his ankles – tapping a finger against his mask. "The Laurence woman works with herbs and other medicinals," he says. "Wants to introduce poisoning, but what a farfetched method – she could have baked cookies to greater advantage garnering less attention."

"My thinking – Andre knew it was unlikely anyone would indulge in a drink, but sweets..." Nadir turns to look at Christine, quirking an eyebrow.

"What? She wants to kill me?"

"Both of us, I would suspect," Erik says. "Although she would be better served offering me a nice cognac. It does appear that women are her targets though. "

"You are a threat, Christine, but Monique would represent the greatest danger to her," Nadir says. "She spent the most time with her – Mme. Laurence would not know of her reluctance to even look at her."

"Then everyone who heard her describe Dr. Perdue when Meg asked would be of concern," Christine says. "That includes Dr. Gerard – she had, possibly still has access to his office."

"Andre is at risk, at this point, and Veronique – if she becomes aware of Veronique's sketches," Erik adds. "We should send a guard to Dr. Gerard's home. She appears to be acting alone, so he may not be in any immediate danger."

"She cannot murder everyone," Christine says. "With all the people we have been naming, it would take her days to poison all of us knowing it was she. Perhaps her first attempt…"

Getting to his feet, he paces the carpet, already looking worn from too many footsteps crossing the delicate threads. "You are absolutely correct – this is all wrong. I do not believe she is actually trying to kill anyone."

"A red herring?" Nadir asks.

Erik nods.

"I agree, but, at this point, we need to follow her lead. As Christine says, there might be a first attempt and success – that cannot happen. We need to alert the stage manager and Darius," Nadir says. "Veronique made some quick copies – I shall take them around."

"What about Raoul and Phillippe?" Christine asks.

"They were walking Giselle down the hall last I saw them – I shall let them know as well."

"Thank you for taking care of this, Daroga," Erik says.

"Get some rest – my brain would likely rot if I did not have you to quarrel with," he chuckles.

* * *

"You left the money with them?" Raoul growls.

"They are working with the police – I could not bring the funds to Inspector Marquand?" Phillippe responds, taking Giselle by the arm as they walk down the hallway towards the stage.

"Raoul, we only want to help find the baby and deal with those who committed these terrible crimes," Giselle says. "There is no one who wants that more than your brother."

Raoul glares at her. "What would you know about my brother? A few dinners, playing Miss Pure and Virtuous."

"Raoul – stop that right now."

"She watches your loving cousin all the time – or haven't you noticed? You are so besotted, you cannot see what is in front of your own eyes." Raoul's eyes are wild, his laugh bitter. "Consider yourself lucky he is so consumed by Christine or he would be dragging her into that hell hole underneath this building. Perhaps we should maim ourselves to become monsters so our women will be enthralled. Monique will be his next conquest – she did save his life." Taking off his hat, he throws it to the ground. "What a farce this life is."

Giselle grabs him by the shoulder, kicking the hat aside. "How dare you speak of me in this manner? How dare you call M. Erik a monster? We are all being patient with you because of your sorrow and fear, but I, for one, have had enough."

"Have you seen his face?" Raoul asks, brushing her hand away.

"Yes."

Raoul is struck silent.

"You have?" Phillippe asks.

"Yes, I have. Just a glimpse of his forehead, a bit of ear and mouth – I entered the office when he was ill – being tended to by the doctor. He was not wearing his mask – no one seemed unnerved."

"And what did _you_ do – throw up?" Raoul sneers.

"I felt a bit faint and M. Khan assisted me to Mme. Giry's office," she says, chin up, back stiff.

"Is that why you avoided looking at – or even speaking with him today?" Phillippe asks.

"So you _were_ aware of her interest in our new family member?" Raoul's eyes darken, a corner of his lip curls.

"Shut up." Phillippe feints toward the younger, smaller man.

Giselle holds her hands up between them to stop their argument, placing herself directly in front of Raoul. "My father taught me to fight boys when I was a young girl – I would be pleased to give you a demonstration if you continue pursuing this commentary."

Raoul raises his eyebrows. "Is that so?"

"It is so – would you care to find out?" Her fists clench at her sides, a glint in her gray eyes.

"It would save me the trouble," Phillippe chuckles, folding one arm across his chest, the other bent, his fingers tapping against his lips.

"I am grateful to M. Erik and M. Khan for employing me at two jobs that I love, for respecting my gifts. I love both of them for their kindness. If I find M. Erik attractive, it is likely his resemblance to your brother – of whom I am quite fond. He, too, treats me with respect. Something that has been rare in my life and the reason my father taught me to fight." The speech leaves her breathless.

Turning to Phillippe, she breathes deeply and says, "I avoided looking at him because I was embarrassed and have not had the opportunity to apologize." Softening her tone and lowering her lashes, she says, "Since it appears that your brother does not wish to experience my skills at fisticuffs, I really must change for work. This dress is far too lovely to be worn climbing about back stage in a theater."

"Would you care to walk with us, Raoul?" Phillippe asks. "I suspect Monique's dressing room is on our route."

"Yes – at least I can trust she will not threaten to beat me." He manages a light laugh.

"Do not be so certain," Giselle advises him. "You really are a pill, you know."

* * *

"You found him?" Inspector Marchand says, rising from his chair, grabbing his Macintosh and hat from the coat rack, following Officer Fremed from his office. "Where was he?"

"There is a cellar – the door was bolted on the outside."

"Did you not check that before?"

"No, sir," Fremed says. "We were not looking for a prisoner."

* * *

" _Break the lock," Fremed ordered the men._

 _Using a crowbar, the lock was prised open and removed from the heavy wooden door._

 _Dr. Berber-Perdue lay on a small cot, pushed against one wall of a room filled with assorted chairs, tables and other furniture, comingled with boxes of all shapes and sizes. His breathing was labored, but he_ was _breathing. The shackle on his ankle was linked to a long chain attached to the foot of the bed. The length long enough for him to walk to the chamber pot placed in the corner of the room next to a table with a pitcher, washbowl and towel rack. The stench in the room suggested no servicing had been done in recent days._

 _A plate holding a crust of bread and an empty cup sat on a stool next to the bed. Fremed picked up the cup and smelled it – herbs, but nothing untoward as far as he could determine. Handing the cup to one of the other officers, he knelt down next to the man lying unconscious in front of him._

 _His pallor was gray and the oval face slick with perspiration, lips absent of color – wavy black hair unkempt and greasy. What could be seen of his white shirt, was stained with grime and sweat around the neckline and on the sleeves – his body was covered with a brown, matted wool blanket._

" _Dr. Berber – can you hear me," Fremed asks._

 _A low groan escapes the man's mouth, eyes so deeply brown, they appear black, flutter open. "Marie?"_

" _No, monsieur. My name is Fremed."_

" _Water?"_

" _Soon. We need to remove you from this room. You are safe now."_

 _The man nods, his eyes close again._

" _We can carry him on the cot."_

* * *

"At least she did not kill him, too," Dr. Gerard says, leading Marquand down the hallway to the examination room where Dr. Berber-Perdue was being treated. "Although a few more days, he might have died from sheer neglect.

"Once we realized he was likely a victim as well – the search of the house took another turn."

Dr. Gerard opens the door and invites them in. "It was good you brought him here – it is safe and I can care for him just as well here as in the hospital."

"Poison?" Marquand asks.

"Laudanum, I think, likely for sedation – for the moment, though he is dehydrated and likely malnourished – withdrawal of the drug is affecting him as well. His clothing is quite loose; he was heavier the last I saw him."

"Can he talk?" Marquand asks.

"You can try, but he's very weak."

"He may know where the baby is," Marquand says. "Or at least have some idea where in the hospital Mme. Laurence has been keeping him."

* * *

"You should rest," Erik says, getting to his feet.

"As should you – seeing as how you are the one under doctor's care," she retorts. "Where are you going?"

"I thought I would brush up on my eavesdropping techniques," he says, taking his hat from the coatrack.

"Meaning walking between walls?"

"How else?"

"I am going with you," she says, standing up, blocking his path to the mirror/door, arms folded in front of her.

"And what would that serve?"

"My own curiosity – as well as keeping an eye on you."

Taking her measure, he sighs. "Leave Nadir a note to tell him where we are going – my writing is too horrible."

Christine takes a sheet of paper and, using Nadir's pen, writes:

 _Nadir,_

 _Erik and I are doing an investigation within the Opera House. We did not wish you to be concerned when you found us absent._

 _Use your wits to determine where we might be based on our recent conversations if we have not returned in time for the performance._

 _Christine_

"Does that suit you?"

"I doubt he will attempt following," Erik says, handing the note back to her. "Are you truly concerned we might not return?" Erik pulls her into an embrace – his arms loosely draped around her.

"Were I to have my way, we would stay here. As I said when you were determined to go out the other night, I will not attempt to change you and your need to partake in these adventures – parts of your set to with Nadir did not escape me – I would never wish you to feel weak-willed because of my fears," she says, ghosting the back of her hand against his cheek. "I was terrified the entire time you were gone – if something is to happen – I want to be part of it. At least I am familiar with the tunnels here."

Erik turns his head to kiss the hand.

Bringing his face down to hers, she kisses him. "For good fortune."

"I promise, we are only going to listen. Although, you are making an excellent effort to keep us here." Making certain her capelet is securely tied, he puts on his hat and, after making certain the office door is locked – the alarm set, he leads her through the door in the wall.

* * *

Monique starts at the sight of a man in the mirror of her vanity, causing her to drop her rouge brush. His clothing is that of a workman – brown flannel shirt and tan breeches – held up with plain brown suspenders absent of any pattern. His face is not visible to her – the bill of an engineer's cap covers much of his face.

"Excuse me?" Pale blue eyes survey the rubble of creams, powders, pins and brushes covering her dressing table – grabbing her hand mirror, she swings around on her bench to face the man. She squints trying to take in the face, but he stands in the shadows, out of the light.

"The managers are providing refreshment to the performers." He presents a tray holding a silver chocolate pot and several cups. The voice of a middling tone, a rasping whisper.

"When did this start?"

"Last week – after the opening."

"No one brought me anything then."

"An oversight, I am certain – perhaps because you were usually with the corps, rather than having your own dressing room."

"Do I know you? I cannot see you very well…the light is behind you."

Making no attempt to show himself more clearly, he says, "Oh, I am just a workman – I move scenery – work in the flies – that sort of thing."

"But you are delivering – what coffee, tea?"

"Hot chocolate – a specialty of the café – made with hot milk then whipped to a froth," he says, setting the tray down on the second vanity, keeping his face turned away.

* * *

"Wait." Erik holds up his hand, stopping Christine from proceeding. "Damn," Erik says. "I never bothered to install a secret door in this room when it was assigned to Monique."

"What is it?" Christine whispers.

"There is someone in the room with her – brought hot chocolate." Taking her hand he begins walking towards the entrance to her old dressing room.

Christine pulls back. "Wait…listen a bit longer."

"I cannot have her drink it," he says, tugging on her hand. "It is bad enough she is likely terrified of a man entering her dressing room."

"Tell her…use your secret voice."

"It would startle her," he says, "We must go around."

"Wait. She will not drink it. This plan is very foolish. Andre knew that, he said as much. He brought nothing to me last week. The singers will not drink the chocolate if they wish to keep their jobs," Her smirk visible even in the lantern light. "And most of the dancers are too concerned with adding pounds to be indulging in such a treat before a performance."

"Trial run? Timing? There is no logic to all of this."

"Veronique said the staff asked him to get the chocolate."

"Two pots. One for the crew – the other for her targets? But why?"

Christine takes hold of his arm. "Since we are on that list, I suspect we are safe for the moment. We cannot take the woman until the baby is located in any event."

* * *

Holding up her hand, she says, "Please – stop pouring – do not waste it."

"Do you not wish to try it?"

"Not now – I have already applied my lip rouge." Her eyes flit back and forth from the headless body to the doorway.

"But it will not be the same cold – it is cooling as we speak." Holding out the cup, he moves a step closer to her.

"Thank you, but no," Monique insists, shrinking back, twisting the mirror between her palms. "You enjoy it for me."

""I could not," he says, placing the cup on the vanity, removing the tray. "A shame. Perhaps I can bring you a cup after your performance in Act II?"

"It really is not necessary – I am certain the managers do not wish to indulge us too much – I would much prefer we received more in our paychecks." A slight smile comes and goes.

The man chuckles. "I see your point."

"The others must be waiting for their refreshment, Monsieur…"

"Albert du Lac," he says, showing her the name tag pinned to his suspenders, offering a slight bow before leaving.

"Albert."

* * *

"He is gone," Erik says.

"Did she drink the chocolate?"

"No."

"As I thought," Christine says. "Her dressing room can be changed again tomorrow, if there is a need."

"Very well – but let us go now – I do not wish any accidental poisonings," Erik says, "I am surprised she acts so recklessly – her behavior suggests she plans to kill anyone in her path – as if no one will notice."

"You said yourself that murder changes a person – people cease being people – they become objects."

The words take him by surprise – her perception. "Did I actually say that to you?"

"In a sense."

* * *

 _I was fifteen when I first took the life of another human being. The gypsy king who had captured me as a child holds that distinction. He had beaten me with a whip for years in order to control me, but all it created was more hatred. Still we came to an agreement that brought him more money and I could be clothed properly and treated me as a modicum of a human being instead of an animal. Quite simple, actually._

 _However, one night, whatever freedom he had allowed lost value. His lust was his undoing. He raped me repeatedly. Once sated, he passed out. I took his knife, the one he had held to my neck as he violated me, and I stabbed him to death._

 _All the rage that I had held in up until that time was unleashed on him. I felt free, truly free, for the first time of my life. I also felt powerful. No one would even control me in that way ever again._

* * *

"Killing someone gave her power," Christine says.

"True enough," Erik says. "It drove her mad – I understand that. She has lost her way, making her all the more dangerous."

* * *

Monique drops the mirror onto the vanity then rushes to the door, securing the lock – pressing her back against the hard wood, gasping for air, she rubs her arms. A small scream escapes her throat at a loud knock. "Who is it?"

"Raoul. May I come in?" The doorknob rattles.

After taking a deep breath, she forces a smile as she smooths her dressing down before turning to open the door for him. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Are you sure it is pleasant? You look terrified," he says, holding his arms out to her.

"Oh, my dear man, of course – you are my love." Throwing her arms around his neck, as she presses her check against his. "I would kiss you, but my make-up would smudge and you would look silly wearing lip rouge."

"What frightened you – you are shivering?" Pulling her closer, he strokes her back, nuzzling his face against her copper curls.

Monique steps back, turning away from him, "Is it cool in here, I am fine – I was not expecting anyone."

"What's this?" The single cup attracts his attention.

"Hot chocolate – seems the managers are being generous with their funds and buying refreshments."

"Are you not going to drink it?"

"No – as I said, I have already applied my make-up for the performance." Bending to examine her face in the mirror, her eyes widen at her pallor. She picks up the rouge brush and applies more color to her pale cheeks.

"Well, then, might I indulge?"

Waving a hand in the air, she says, "Of course – best it not go to waste – I am told it is a specialty." More rouge is applied to her lips.

Raoul tastes the cocoa, then takes a longer drink – spitting it out. "It is awful – bitter. The chocolate must have gone rancid."

There is a rap on the door before Erik pushes through – followed by Christine.

"What in heaven," Raoul exclaims.

Erik knocks the cup from Raoul's hand. "Do not drink that."

Raoul shifts to one side, attempting to avoid the spray of the liquid. "I took a sip – it is putrid," he says. "What are you doing here?"

* * *

"Monsieur. Monsieur," Andre calls out to the man carrying the tray.

Isabella stops, her back stiff. Thin lips curve into a smile as she turns to face the boy. "Yes, young man, what is it?"

"Why are you delivering the beverages?" Andre says, reaching for the tray. "You paid me to do that."

"Yes, well, I saw the tray just sitting…"

"I had to go back for the second pot – I could not carry both at one time."

"It was no bother – it was enough that you went to fetch the cocoa," Isabella says. "I shall bring the drink to La Daae."

"Oh, she will not partake."

"Is that so?"

"Oui. None of the singers – the milk coats their throats – makes it hard to sing."

"The dancers, then – Mlle. Giry?"

"No." Andre shakes his head.

"Then who received the drinks last week?"

The Managers, my maman, the stage manager, some of the crew…and me!"

"Why did you not tell me?"

"You said to give it to whoever would want some," he shrugs. "Would you like for me to take this to Messrs. Firmin and Armand? They really liked their chocolate – especially after they added some brandy," he giggles.

"Yes, please." In handing him the tray, it tips, falling to the floor. "Oh, well. Pity. Just take them the fresh pot."

"I must clean this up first," Andre says. "Maman would have my head if I left a mess for the cleaners."

"I suppose I should help."

"No. Best see the master of the flies, then, he gets upset when his workers are not where he wants them to be – I got quite a scolding one day." Running off to find some rags, he turns back. "I forgot to thank you. Everyone really enjoyed your gift."

Isabella nods, watching him for a moment, then turns, walking swiftly to lose herself backstage.

* * *

Nadir disarms and unlocks the door to the Security office and enters, closing the door behind him. He picks up the envelope lying at his feet and, taking it to the desk, he sits down. While using the silver handled letter opener to open the missive, he reads the note from Christine.

"Damn that man – she is becoming worse than he is."

Unfolding the stationary he removes from the envelope, he scans the printing. "And so it goes." Pocketing the note, he pushes back his chair to rise, picks up the dirty dishes, then exits the office.

* * *

Phillippe jumps out of the way as Andre pushes past him to the service closet.

"Andre, where are you running to?" Giselle asks, seizing the boy by his suspenders. "You nearly knocked le Comte off his feet."

"Albert, the new flyman, dropped a pot of hot chocolate on the floor and I need to clean it up."

"Let me help you – an entire pot must have created quite a puddle," Phillippe says.

Both Giselle and Andre look askance at him.

"Do you think I am incapable of cleaning?"

"Not at all," Giselle says. "I should think you would not wish to."

"There are many things one might not wish to do, but must be done," Phillippe says. "Come, Andre, lead me to the mops and rags."

* * *

Monique grabs a towel from the small stack tucked underneath the table holding the wash bowl and pitcher to wipe Raoul's tail coat. Then hands another to Christine who cleans the mess on the floor.

Raoul gently takes the towel from Monique to finish the job himself, wiping his hands when finished. "Are you daft?" he asks Erik.

"I was trying to save your life," Erik says, picking up the broken crockery from the floor, placing it on the vanity.

"Amusing."

"M. Erik, Raoul said the cocoa tasted bitter and rancid…" Monique says.

"Possibly poisoned," Erik says.

"You are serious," Raoul says.

"When I speak of a life being taken, I am always serious."

Stumbling backwards, Monique catches herself on the edge of her dressing table, sitting on the bench. "Oh, God. I knew there was something wrong with him. He reminded me of someone."

"Did you know the person who brought you the drink?"

Shaking her head, she says, "He said his name was Albert du Lac. That the managers provided it." Holding her head in her hands, fingers pressed to the temples. "Oh, God. Dr. Perdue. It was Dr. Perdue."

* * *

The sight of Phillippe de Chagny on his knees wiping the floor, brings Nadir to a full stop. "Le Comte?"

Phillippe looks up, rising to his feet, he dusts off his trousers. "M. Khan."

"What is this?" Nadir turns full circle at wet painted floor.

"Albert dropped the pot of hot chocolate…" Andre says.

"Albert?"

"The flyman – he started last week," Andre says. "He said I should go to the café…"

"Giselle?"

"Albert du Lac?"

"Yes."

"I have not seen him since the opening – he received his identification badge and that was the last I saw of him."

"Did you report that to Darius," Nadir asks.

"Of course – the stage manager has instructions to keep him from entering."

"Where did he go?" Nadir asks.

Andre points to the back of the stage.

"Did you see where he came from?"

"The dressing rooms."

"I shall check the stage area" Giselle says.

"Not alone…" Phillippe say, reaching an arm out to stop her.

"Darius is with the stage manager," Giselle says, patting his hand before running to the exit door. "I want to know how he was allowed in."

"Look for a woman," Nadir calls after her." Picking up the tray, he adds his dishes to the cups and pot and hands it over to Andre. "Come with me. Andre, you can return these to the café once we speak to Erik."

"Yes, sir." Andre replies.

"Do you think it was the kidnapper?" Phillippe asks.

"I am quite certain of it," Nadir says, holding up the envelope. "Let us find Erik and Christine – they suspected this might happen. I believe we shall find them in Monique's dressing room."

* * *

Taking the dirty towels, Christine folds them and lays them next to the pitcher. Pouring Monique a glass of water, she massages the ballerina's back as she drinks.

Erik throws pieces of the broken cup in the small waste basket next to the empty dressing table and sits down on the bench. "What happened?"

As Monique tells her story, Nadir, Phillippe and Andre appear in the doorway.

"She made an attempt on Monique?" Nadir asks.

"So it would appear," Erik says.

"Did you see him?" Phillippe asks Raoul.

"No. I must have arrived just after he left. I almost drank the cocoa."

"Is that how it spilled?"

Raoul exchanges a look with Erik. "No, Erik was concerned I would drink from the cup and knocked it from my hand."

"You had already determined the cocoa was spoiled – I acted precipitously."

"Nevertheless, you acted on my behalf."

"A love song will come next," Nadir chuckles. Noting the broken cup on the table, he adds it to the other crockery. "At this rate, we shall be able to open our own restaurant."

Light laughter fills the room, relieving some of the tension.

Raoul takes Christine's place next to Monique, as she crosses the room to sits down on the bench Erik offers her as he rises to stand behind her.

"Giselle is with Darius looking for her," Phillippe says. "Young Andre, here, saw her running backstage."

"You have something to show us, Daroga?" Erik asks, pointing to the envelope.

"Yes," he says, handing the note to Phillippe, who reads it and passes it to Raoul. The Vicomte scans the note, showing it to Monique before handing the letter to Erik.

Erik chuffs, then hands the note to Christine.

 _The boy will carry the bag aboard the Rue Scribe tram at 7AM._

 _He will find a seat at the front of the bus, next to the driver._

 _He will place the bag under the seat._

 _He will exit at the 2_ _nd_ _stop, leaving the bag behind._

 _Once assured the money has been transferred without being followed, you will be notified where the baby can be found._

"At last the distractions have come to an end," Erik says.

"Why do you say that?" Christine asks.

"This entire business was about money," Nadir says.

"The note is about money," Phillippe adds.

"And returning the baby," Raoul says. When he rests his hand on her shoulder, she leans into him, pressing her hand on his.

"Nicole's mother would have us believe otherwise," Erik says.

"M. Erik, I saw Nicole by your office," Andre says.

"That makes sense."

"The chocolate was a distraction?" Christine asks. "How cruel." Her eyes go to Monique. "I am so sorry."

"This has to end," Monique says, holding more tightly to Raoul. "Please make this end."

"I shall do my best to keep you safe – I wish I had been here for you sooner," he tells her. "So there was no danger in drinking the cocoa?"

"I would not say that – had it been drinkable – it would likely sedate rather than kill."

"Why Monique?"

"She actually saw her," Nadir says. "I received word from Inspector Marquand that the young man they found in Mlle. Arnault's flat has died."

"From his wounds?" Raoul asks.

"Possible sepsis from the bullet wound or he was helped along," Nadir says, shrugging. "In any event, we shall learn nothing from him."

"What now?" Christine asks.

"We prepare for the drop off," Nadir says.

"More importantly, we continue the hunt for the baby. So far Nicole has not returned to the Maternite hospital. Likely her mother told her to stay away."

"Do we continue to seek Mme. Laurence?" Phillippe asks.

"Yes, but as my wife has said – we cannot take her until we have the baby. Seek, but not find, as it were. If we could only know what part of the Maternite hospital held Dr. Perdue's clinic."

"Excuse me. Is M. Saint-Rien or M. Khan here?" Officer Fremed asks, sticking his head into the room.

"Both. Come in, Officer Fremed," Nadir says. "Comte and Vicomte de Chagny, Mlle. Monique DuBois and, you know, Mme. Saint-Rien."

"Officer," they say in unison.

"The Inspector wanted you to know that Dr. Berber has been located."

"Indeed?" Erik says.

"He wondered if you and M. Khan would wish to join in the interrogation," Fremed continues. "He is weak and may not be able to tell us anything, but…"

"Where is he?"

"Dr. Gerard's office."

"Erik?" Christine takes his hand, an unspoken question in her eyes.

Shaking his head no, he brings her hand to his lips. "Perhaps you should stay with Adele tonight."

"I shall think of you." A small smile curves her lips.

With a chortle, he kisses her hand once more. "Daroga – shall we?"

* * *

A/N - Translations: fusspot; smart aleck, booby, son-of-a b*tch.


	17. Loose Ends

LOOSE ENDS

Erik's long strides down the hallway find him the first to reach the door of the Security office – Nadir, Andre and Officer Fremed trotting to keep up. "You found the note under the door?" Tapping his foot.

"Half in, half out, but, yes, under the door," Nadir answers.

"Christine and I heard or saw nothing before leaving – you saw no one in the hallway?"

"I would have said so," Nadir retorts, fumbling to pull his keys from the pocket of his waistcoat.

Fremed holds up his hand before Nadir can insert them into the locks. Leaning in to get a closer look at the locks, he says, "There appear to be scratches on the new lock – hardly visible."

"Let me see," Nadir bends over to examine the brass lock. "Faint, but definitely there."

"A failed break-in." Erik says.

"Who has duplicate pass keys?" Fremed asks.

"The stage manager has a set – they are in a secured cabinet at the front. Only a few people have access to them," Erik says.

"The stage manager, of course. Adele and some of the crew, but only with authorization from the house managers, Erik and myself or Adele," Nadir adds.

"Are they concealed?"

"No – the locked box that holds each key on a hook is in plain sight hanging on the wall – less incentive for anyone to try to break in."

* * *

"The keys did not work, Maman," Nicole says, handing them to her.

"Both of them? Salaud. I knew he was a liar," Isabelle says. "Thank goodness I did not completely honor our agreement."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Nothing."

* * *

 _The lanky balding man sauntered up to Isabella, standing in one of the dark corners backstage. An engineer's hat tipped back on his head in a jaunty fashion and despite a missing incisor, his smile created an almost handsome visage._

 _Isabella smiled in return when he held up a pair of brass keys, one duller than the other. "You secured them."_

" _Was not a simple task, but good timing and some smart chatter won the day – not to mention a small flask of whiskey."_

" _Did you verify they opened the doors?"_

" _Now that would cost a bit more – exposing myself to the public, as it were," he said. "I was assured that these were the devices you wished."_

" _Very well," she sighed, snatching the keys from his hand, pocketing them in her gray skirt. "I suppose I must take your word for it."_

 _His eyes take in the surroundings. "Not exactly my idea of the spot for a romantic rendezvous – I am certain I could locate an unused dressing room."_

" _Is that so? I would assume your romantic interludes are conducted in dark alleys – at least we are inside with a reasonable assumption of privacy."_

" _You tear at my heart with your cold words." Having folded his hands, he clutched them to his chest. "Alas, you are correct. My skills as a lover are seldom appreciated as they might be, were they given the proper environment."_

" _Let us get this over with." She sat down on a discarded settee with a drop cloth thrown over it._

 _His trousers unbuttoned, he pulled them down along with his drawers, exposing an already erect penis._

 _Eyes void of emotion examined his member, running a single finger from his scrotum to the head._

 _A groan escaped his lips, the once charming smile twisted into a leer. "Are you certain you do not want to know me better?"_

" _Here, add to your pleasure with this," she said, handing him a glass pint bottle filled with amber liquid._

" _Madame, you are an exemplary hostess." A deep swig brought about a coughing fit, causing his eyes to water. "What is this?"_

" _Only the best – perhaps you are not used to fine brandy," she sniggered. "Drink some more while I tend to your magnificent member." She pumps his length with rhythmic strokes slowly before squeezing his scrotum, increasing the pressure on both until his knees begin to shake._

" _In the mouth – you were going to take me in your mouth," he mumbled, having trouble keeping his footing._

" _Ah, but you did not fulfill your part of the bargain – how am I to know these are the correct keys?" Pushing him away, he stumbled back, catching himself on a plaster of Paris bust, before falling flat on the floor. "What the hell? I did not come."_

" _This is so much more than le petite mort you desire." A smaller bottle removed from her reticule, is held to his lips._

" _What are you doing?"_

" _Releasing you from your miserable existence," she said, pouring the liquid into his languid mouth. Satisfied he was unconscious, if not already dead, she removed his clothes – after shedding her own, puts them on. Securing the name tag to the suspenders, she verified the name – Albert du Lac. Folding her own garments, she placed them in a bag along with the nearly empty whisky bottle. After removing the top, she dragged du Lac's body to a wooden box and maneuvered him in, replacing the cover. A canvass tarp over the lid met with her approval. Satisfied that the area is free from any sign of their presence, she left._

* * *

"Andre, do you recall when you saw Nicole?"

"I was bringing the second pot of chocolate. I saw her outside the door, trying the knob. She appeared to curse, stamping her foot, then ran in the opposite direction from me."

"Did she see you?"

The boy shakes his head. "I do not think so."

"I remember something," Nadir says. "When I placed the key in the old lock, the bolt slid closed, I had to turn the key again to open the door. It slipped my mind when I saw the note on the floor."

"So the key worked on the old lock, but not on the new," Erik says. "Looking for the money do you think?

"Most likely." Nadir responds.

"Nicole must have seen le Comte with the suitcase."

"He came through the lobby. I saw him," Andre says.

"You see everything – I could not ask for a better protégé." Erik disarms the alarm and opens both locks, pushing the door open, indicating Fremed precede him into the office.

The sound of running footsteps halts Erik, Nadir and Andre from following.

"Monsier Khan," Darius calls out. "I am so happy we found you."

"Darius? Giselle, Henri? Calm down," Nadir says.

"What is it?" Erik asks. "You all look green about the gills."

"When looking for Madame Laurence we discovered a body."

* * *

" _Where did you notice the smell?" Darius asked Henri as they made their way deeper into the storage area of the Opera house._

" _Near the tall staircases, along with the cabinets holding garments made of fur that require deeper cold – this area has no heating."_

" _Why were you back here?" Giselle asked._

" _The stage manager was asked to retrieve a column for HANNIBAL stored by mistake. He said some things were out of place and there was a bad smell. He was afraid that the Opera Ghost had returned and refused to look further on his own."_

 _Darius and Giselle laughed at the story. "If he only knew."_

" _Better he does not – it is one way we can keep him in line," Henri replied._

" _Whew, I understand his reasoning. A dead animal, perhaps – rats?" Giselle said, waving a hand in front of her face._

" _Quite a large rat, or several of them." Darius pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. "Death has a smell like no other – the sickly sweetness of sulfur created by rotten eggs, boiled cabbage and fecal matter, fish, the acid of urine all combined to offend the nose and sting the eyes with an overlay of its own that defies description."_

" _A rather poetic description," Giselle commented, holding an arm over her face._

" _Darius is always quoting poetry. It must be his Persian upbringing." Henri removed his cap to use as a mask. "Over here – the odor seems to be strongest here." He led them to a wooden crate covered with a large piece of scrim._

" _This reminds me of a story my mother told me about what happens when one dies," Darius said. "The angels of death come and demand the soul face the anger of Allah. As everyone is frightened by Allah, the soul tries to hide within the body. The angels beat the soul and pull it from the body by cutting and tearing the interior of the body apart." Pushing the cloth aside, he lifts up a corner of the plywood. "Merde." Letting the lid drop, he turned away, his arm over his face as he coughed. "I see what were once legs." Moving to the other end of box, using his jacket this time to cover his nose. "Here – the head and shoulder - tissue falling away from the bone."_

 _Signaling them to move away from the vile container. "Do not get too close, there is leakage coming from the box – you do not want that on your shoes." Continuing his recollections, he said, "The soul of the sinner is then wrapped in a dirty cloth which emits a horrible smell. This is how the soul is taken to heaven. When asked by other angels, the angels of death tell them this is a wicked soul – a sinner. The soul is not allowed into heaven and must suffer in hell until Judgment Day."_

" _You appear to have no sense of horror about all of this," Giselle said._

" _I have seen worse – it is death – the body returning to the earth. The soul is gone – of what use is the body now?"_

" _I told you – he makes everything into a poem."_

" _At least the body is already in a crate. We just need a cart to get it out of here." Giselle said._

" _I suggest we report it, but wait until morning before moving anything – when the Opera House is relatively empty. I cannot see dragging this through the house making everyone ill," Darius said. "That is reality."_

 _The three began their trek back to the hallway leading to the offices, taking in deep breaths as they walk._

" _Any idea who it might be?" Henri asked._

" _Albert du Lac," Giselle replied._

 _Darius quirks an eyebrow._

" _That is who Andre said hired him to get the chocolate from the café."_

" _I do not understand," Henri said._

" _Mme. Laurence killed him and took his clothing and identification badge, so she could come and go without suspicion. I have not seen Albert a couple of weeks. She likely just walked in, flashed the badge and was allowed entry without the stage manager bothering to check."_

" _Monsieur Khan is going to be livid," Darius said. "Even if we did not know who we were looking for – the badges must be verified."_

" _I suppose we should be happy that no one else was hurt."_

* * *

Fremed steps back into the hallway. "And no one noticed the smell before now?"

Actually, I did," says Henri, "but only today, once Darius had us looking for Nicole's mother."

"The corpse was folded into a crate covered with a tarpaulin. We followed the odor to the far corner where the larger stage pieces and props that are seldom used are kept," Giselle says.

* * *

"Nicole!"

The girl jumps at the sound of her name, causing her to spill the glass of water she was drinking. "Madame Giry," she says. "You startled me."

"Why is the troupe being left to their own devices by the barre and you are here in the visitor's area? I gave you the job of mistress because you are capable and reliable."

"Her mother has been feeling poorly, Maman, Nicole has been taking care of her," Meg says. "I told her she could take a moment for a break."

* * *

" _Only a moment," Nicole said._

" _If my mother returns we shall both be in trouble."_

" _I must fetch some medicine for my mother – I shall be right back." With that Nicole runs behind the curtains, out of Meg's sight and to costume storage._

" _Where have you been?" Isabella demands, straightening her mob cap – her plain, but well cut brown dress, decorated with small flowers and leaves, is similar to those of the other seamstresses._

" _This key, fit one lock that looks like those on all the other doors – I felt the bolt slide. I removed it and tried it in the other lock, but it did not fit, so I inserted the second key. That did not work either. I jimmied it some, but then noticed some sort of box next to the door, so stopped. I know that Messrs. Saint-Rien and Khan are putting these boxes by many of the doors."_

" _Alarms." Isabella takes the keys from her, putting them in her reticule. "You were wise to leave it be. I should have expected they would take extra precautions."_

" _I left the note under the door as you told me."_

" _That is good – it is too bad we could not have just taken the money."_

" _We are going to give the baby back?"_

" _Yes, yes – what do I want with a baby? Half a million francs is what I want. This just makes it more difficult"_

" _The note…"_

" _I may have a better idea."_

" _I have to go."_

" _Then go – do you see me keeping you?"_

* * *

"A moment – and how long was that _moment?_ And since when are _you_ running the ballet?" Adele glares at her daughter. "I just might give your solo to someone else."

Arms wrapped around herself, crouching in a protective stance, Nicole says, "I am sorry, Madame – please do not blame Meg, it shall not happen again," Gathering her cape from the chair, she places the glass on one of the tables provided for the patrons.

"We have a new ballet soon to be produced and I was considering a specialty for you – do not force me to change my mind."

"A specialty – truly?" Looking back and forth between the two of them, she converts her stooped pose into a reverence bow. "Madame, I cannot thank you enough."

Meg nods happily. "You work so hard on the details, we all forget what a beautiful dancer you are." Taking Nicole's hands, they bounce with excitement.

Nicole falls into Meg's arms, tears flowing down her cheeks. "Thank you. I had no idea. I wish I had known before…"

Adele tilts her head. "Before?"

"Oh, before – before I took this break – so you would not think poorly of me."

"Your mother is ill?"

"Just a bit of a cold, but she needed me to run an errand for her."

"Like a good daughter," Adele harrumphs, giving Meg a side-eye.

"I run errands for you," Megs argues, pouting – arms crossed.

"Yes, I suppose you do," Adele says. Pounding her cane on the floor has all the girls jump. "Are you dancers?" she calls out.

"Oui, Madame Giry," a chorus of voices replies.

The rustling sound of ballet slippers brings a smile to Adele's face.

"Back to work, both of you. I shall be watching."

Adele grabs Meg's arm, pulling her aside. "It may already be too late, but do not let her out of your sight again." she whispers in her ear. "You should have followed her."

"Yes, Maman, I am sorry."

* * *

"Was he clothed?" Erik asks.

"No, at least from what I could see."

"Did you notice anything else – cause of death?"

"No. The body was already decomposing and, to be frank, we could not bear the odor," Darius says. "I would recommend cloths soaked with camphor to place near the nose when dealing with the remains."

"All right," Nadir says. "Get a crew together – those who you feel will not be too upset by the remains."

"We could stop at the morgue on our way back to the station," Fremed says. "Have their people come back to handle it."

"I thought it might be best if we did not disturb the cast and crew with the idea of a dead body," Darius interjects, "much less the odor."

"Good enough – tomorrow then," Erik says. "Since the instructions have Andres carrying the ransom on the tram – it would be best to keep it here – now that we know the office is secure."

"I wonder what they must have been thinking – that Nicole could just walk in and it would be lying out in the open," Nadir says.

"Is there anything you wish for us to do?" Giselle asks, indicating Henri and herself.

"Everyone just sit for a moment before rushing off," Nadir responds. "We cannot just be rushing off hither and thither. We are all trained, yet this woman has us running in circles."

"This whole business about the bus is some sort of ruse – I wondered at how she was going to pull it off, but was still prepared to pack the boy onto a bus with a valise full of francs," Erik says.

"Does that mean I can still be in the opera tonight, M. Erik?" Andre asks. "I think I like that better than going home to bed."

"He can stay with me," Giselle says. "I shall be certain he is out of harm's way."

"Yes, let us keep everything as routine as possible. The Laurence woman may be prowling around – doing your regular job will allow you to see what is out of place," Erik says. Turning to the daroga, he asks, "You handed out the pictures?"

Nadir nods. "It occurred to me that perhaps I should go with Officer Fremed and question Dr. Berber – then return here. No reason both of us going. If they just attempted to steal the money, as you say, it is likely both women are still on the premises and you know this building better than anyone."

* * *

"If you are quite all right, Monique, I best be going to my own dressing room to prepare for the show tonight," Christine says, rising from the bench.

"I would be happy to stay here with her," Phillippe says. "Do you feel comfortable with that?"

"Did I magically disappear?" Raoul asks, patting his chest and arms. "No, it would seem that I am still flesh and blood."

"It was not intended that way, my brother," Phillippe chuckles. "I thought you might wish to go to wardrobe and find another tailcoat to wear since the one you have on is ruined. It is becoming a habit – your clothes getting ruined when you visit this building. We should, perhaps, request a dressing room for you." Straightening Raoul's lapels, with sharp pats to his chest, he says, "I simply did not wish for Monique to be left alone."

"You two sound like Erik and Nadir fussing at one another," Christine giggles. "Why not walk with me, Raoul – then you can go on, as Phillippe wisely suggests, to find something fresh to wear."

Looking down at the chocolate stained jacket and waistcoat, he nods. "I think that would be advisable." He bends down to kiss Monique on the top of her head, squeezing her shoulders. "I shall see you when you finish tonight."

"I look forward to it," Monique says, caressing his cheek. "Phillippe please have a seat, you have been standing since you came in – your legs must be aching."

"If anyone's legs ache, I suspect they might be yours, but I will accept your generous offer."

"Shall we?" Raoul asks, offering his arm to Christine.

Allowing him to open the door for her, she takes his arm, leading the way into the hallway.

"Have you recovered from the shock?" she asks.

"Which one?" he smirks.

"I am sorry…" she says, pulling away.

"No. _I_ am sorry – that was flippant," he says, reaching for her hand, placing it under his arm again. "You and Erik have been most tolerant of me and many of my actions and comments." Shaking his head, he says, "I feel so impotent – useless."

"There is not much you can do right now – do not be so hard on yourself."

Stopping, he turns to face her. "Did you ever love me, Christine? We never had the opportunity to talk about what happened – I feel as though I cannot move ahead with Monique until I understand what went wrong between us."

Sighing deeply, her brow furrows, she says "That is quite a request – here – now?"

"Please," he says, resting his hand on her arm. "Please."

"I loved you the first time I saw you – I keep the red scarf even now." Pressing her back against the flocked wallpaper, she rests her hands on her stomach, making small circles with her fingers. "You were my first love and when I saw you again, it reawakened that feeling in me. I felt so safe with you."

"Yet, you went with him – that night…and later." He takes her by the shoulders. "You were afraid – you told me you were afraid of him."

"I was afraid of what I felt for him – he was…is a part of me. We belong to one another." A glance travels to his hands and back to his face.

Removing them, he frowns. "You always talked of freedom – how you did not wish to marry."

"It was you I could not marry. I was already married to him – in my heart." A faint blush colors her cheeks as she gazes at the placement of her hands.

"So you did not love me," he says, following her gaze.

"I did – I do. I always will, but it is not the same as what I feel for Erik," she says, touching his forearm, smiling.

"You are with child," he states – no question in his tone.

"Yes."

"I am not the most observant person, but when I have seen you in recent times, you seem to always be caressing your…abdomen." Rubbing his fingers against his eyes, he searches for a place to look that is not her face. "I wish you well – seems we are both about to be parents," he chuffs. "I had imagined that possibility for us – just not in this way."

"No – I suppose not," she says. "This is as it should be. I suspect your love for Monique is different than your love for me."

A faint blush rises from his neck to his cheeks, a small smile finds his lips, his head bobs suggesting a nod.

"Aha, I am correct," she says, tugging on his sleeve to recommence their walk.

"She is quite amazing," he says.

"I agree – you have both experienced much these past months," she says, reaching into her reticule for the keys to her dressing room. "When this is over, I hope you can take some time to be together." Having reached the door, she stops, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek. "Best be on your way before things get hectic in wardrobe."

"Thank you."

"Thank _you,"_ she says. "Now go, I see my costume coming toward us." Waving her hand at the woman approaching them, she calls out, "Hello, Claudette. Your timing is perfect." Disarming the alarm and unlocking the door, she says, "Now let us see if the alterations are sufficient to accommodate my ever-growing waistline."

The gown threatens to overwhelm the wardrobe woman, her face covered by the volume of the red, green and gold skirt draped over her arms, only her mob cap visible.

"Here, let me help you with that, Madame," Raoul says, placing his arms under the costume, taking it from her.

"No, please, Monsieur, this is my job."

"Let him help you – the gown is quite heavy. I know, I must wear it," Christine says. "Lay it on the chaise, Raoul, if you would."

Raoul does as instructed. "I should let you get dressed."

"Wait – Claudette can guide you to wardrobe – I can manage much of this myself." She turns back to the door. "Claudette, could you…where did she go?" Looking into hallway, she sees the woman rushing away from the dressing room.

"Claudette!"

"I forgot the scarf, Madame. I shall be back momentarily – I am sorry."

"Allow the Vicomte to walk with you – he needs some clean clothes – help him find something suitable."

Raoul tips his hat as he runs to catch up to the wardrobe woman. "Thank you again."

"I shall see you after the performance," she says, closing the door after him.

* * *

Dr. Berber lies on a small daybed in Dr. Gerard's sitting room. His fouled clothing was removed and after a sponge bath, replaced by a linen nightshirt and a knit cap borrowed from his host. Dr. Gerard feeds him spoonsful of broth.

"His color looks somewhat brighter," he says.

"Do you think another blanket is necessary?" Elyse asks her husband. "More soup? More tea for the gentlemen?"

"No, my dear, we are all fine," he says, rising, stretching his arms over his head and twisting from side to side. "I believe the Inspector would like to question him now that M. Khan has arrived."

"Of course, silly of me. I believe I have some mending to do," she says, leaving the room with a wave of her handkerchief.

"A kind woman," Nadir says. "Not many would take in a stranger."

"Elyse is most generous. She is also most curious – are you not, my dear?" he says, laughing.

"Oh, posh, husband, you know me too well." The sound of a door closing suggests their privacy is secure.

Nadir and Marquand move their chairs from the dining room table to the day bed.

"Do you wish me to leave, Edouard?" Dr. Gerard asks.

"No, stay – if he is able to speak about the hospital, you would be able to support him."

"Dr. Berber?"

The dark-haired man's eyes flutter open – they shift from one man's face to the next, stopping at Dr. Gerard. "Emile? Where?"

"My home. You were quite ill, but are getting better," he says. "This is Inspector Edouard Marquand and M. Nadir Khan."

"Inspector? Why?"

"You were found in the basement of your home – shackled to the bed. From all appearances – you were being poisoned – or, at minimum, heavily sedated."

"Isabella," he grunts.

* * *

" _What are you doing here? You are never to come to my home."_

" _You have been robbing me and I intend for it to stop."_

" _Do not be a fool – you could never run the operation I created."_

" _You did not tell me about the Vicomte's baby."_

" _What are you talking about?"_

" _Your little whore let it slip whose baby she is carrying."_

" _What does that matter?"_

" _Money is what matters. Do not expect me to believe you are going to ask your usual 10 or 20 thousand francs – giving me a fee."_

" _He does not want the child – we…I have…other plans for the baby – you might have spoken to me without upsetting Marie-Corrinne."_

" _Liar. Marcel – take care of him."_

* * *

"That is all I remember except a thug rushing me with a blackjack."

"Stocky young man – blondish hair?"

"Yes," he says rubbing his face. "What is the date?"

"20 April," Nadir responds. "You have been away for a while."

"3 weeks." His response is a groan, coming from deep within. "Marie?"

"I am sorry," Emile says.

"The baby?"

"That is why we are here. To find out what you might know."

"She was still pregnant when…this," motioning to his head "happened." The tears flow freely from the heavy-lidded eyes. "Oh, God, what a fool I have been."

"You had a business – placing unwanted babies with adoptive parents – is that correct?"

"Yes. Everything was legal. I have all the documentation."

"What we need to know is where the mothers stayed while awaiting birth – where the babies were taken care of," Marquand says.

"The Maternite hospital."

"We know that much, but, as you will admit, the facility is vast and we are trying to maintain a low profile because of this _Isabella_."

"The laundry entrance. There is a passageway that leads to a section of the hospital that is never used. It is blocked off from the main hallways. All the facilities work – water, electricity – it has just been forgotten."

'He needs to rest," Dr. Gerard says. "Do you have what you need?"

"I believe so," Marquand says, reaching over to shake Dr. Berber's hand. "Thank you, doctor."

"My thanks as well," Nadir says. "I am sorry for your loss."

"How did she die?" He reaches out for Nadir's arm.

"Someone, I presume Isabella – Madame Laurence – performed a caesarian section to take the baby. Her body was left at the Madeleine church." The daroga presses his hand against the doctor's.

Berber closes his eyes. "Were there others?"

"Two."

He nods.

"I shall see you out," Dr. Gerard says.

* * *

Stepping behind the screen to remove her street clothing, Christine slips the cream satin dressing gown with cut velvet embellishments over her new batiste chemise. The cheval mirror reflects her assessment of her body as she pulls the chemise tight against her belly. "Hmmmm, not flat, but still no bump."

The Elissa dress catches her eye, hanging awkwardly from the back of the chair. "I could complain about Raoul being messy, but Erik is always picking up after me." A giggle escapes, her body shivers in response to a recollection of their habit of tossed clothing and love making.

* * *

 _Christine began tugging on his jacket before they were entirely inside the Rue Scribe door._

" _My dear, this is unsafe, allow me to at least disarm the traps so we do not find ourselves hanged, crushed or speared due to inordinate lust."_

 _Covering the grin that breaks across her face with her hand, Christine follows him – maintaining their routine upon returning home: close and lock the door, disarm the traps, reset the traps once they arrive at the door to the kitchen entry – then proceed to undress one another, tripping over trousers, dresses, jackets and shoes as they pass through the kitchen to the sitting room to their bedroom._

 _Flopping on the bed, laughing hysterically, she says, "I took more clothing off you than you did me tonight."_

" _Let me see – no tailcoat. No trousers. No shoes – shoes must be ruled out – I kicked mine off, you kicked yours off – cravat untied, but still in place."_

" _Your hat – you forgot your hat and your waistcoat."_

" _Was I wearing a waistcoat?"_

" _You always wear a waistcoat."_

" _So four – four and a half," he says. "Now you."_

" _Bonnet, cape, bodice, skirt, petticoat, shoes – stocking – one stocking. How did you do that? Six."_

" _Seven now," he says, straddling her, running his hands over her shoulders, pulling down her chemise, pausing a moment to cup her breasts, ghosting his thumbs over her erect pink nipples. "Eight." Sliding her drawers over her hips – brushing her thighs with his long fingers, peeling off the other stocking – nine."_

 _Sighing deeply, she says, "I suppose you win."_

" _I always win – even when you manage to remove more garments – which seldom happens. Why is that do you suppose?" he asks, removing the cravat himself, falling onto his back. Taking her turn to remove his clothing, she unbuttons his shirt, pulling it over his shoulders – careful to avoid disturbing his bandage – slipping it from the arms he holds up to assist her. "I have a definite feeling you are prepared to reap the rewards of this contest," she says, wriggling her bottom against his groin._

" _It is too soon for you," he groans, willing his body to wait._

" _I think not, Maestro – I know what I know," she says lifting up to accept him inside her._

 _Unable to control the urge to thrust himself more deeply into that part of her, the dark secret place where he succumbs to her power over him._

* * *

Smiling in the mirror, Christine applies her stage make-up, never tiring of the powders and rouge – the kohl darkened lids. Part of her love for the stage has always been pretending – playing dress-up – being someone else. They both loved make believe – it relieved the loneliness and the reality he faced with public rejection and she – the loss of her father.

"Do you like my angel of music, Pappa?" She asks the photograph on her vanity. "I love my angel of music, Pappa. You are going to be a grandpappa, although you cannot tell right now. I am knitting her a blanket just as Mamma taught me." Indicating the basket of yarn and needles sits on the edge of her vanity with a tilt of her head.

Returning her focus to the mirror, her eyes shift once again to the dress. Getting up, she holds the gown in front of her, frowning as she examines the bodice. Gold. Not red and green. "This is Carlotta's." As if burned, she throws the dress back on the chair, runs to the door to check the locks. The old lock is turned – the key removed, but setting the second one has not become habit. As she lifts her hand to the alarm, the door knob rattles, startling her.

Backing away, she calls out, "Who is there?"

A short rap, then a woman's voice, "It is Claudine, Madame. Your dresser. I have the scarf."

"Claudine? Oh, God."

* * *

"I shall wait for Nadir in Christine's dressing room," Erik says. "I do not like her being alone – especially now."

"We left her with Le Comte and le Vicomte in Monique's dressing room," Darius says. "She is not alone."

"Darius," the stage manager runs toward them, breathing heavily. "M. Saint-Rien, I am so happy you are here."

"What is it, Reynald?"

"I was checking the props – making sure everything was in order for tonight. Pieces have been moved and misplaced – keys are not where they should be – the OG is back, I am certain of it." The spindly man with a brush mustache and buck teeth, nods vigorously.

"Reynald – what did I tell you?" Darius says, rolling his eyes at Erik.

"It is understandable that you have concerns, Reynald, but I can assure you that the Opera Ghost has no intention of returning here to harm anyone."

"So props and keys are out of place," Giselles says. "What else?"

"There is a body – behind the elephant."

"Did you check it out? Are you certain it is not a dummy? I think people know you are afraid and are playing tricks on you." Giselle scolds.

"No, Mlle. Giselle, this is not a trick."

She shakes her finger at him. "You best not be lying."

"Andre – stay here with Reynald," Erik says as he leads Darius, Giselle and Henri to the prop elephant.

Falling to his knees, he lifts a scrim from the man's body, turning him over. "Raoul."

"Is he alive?" Giselle asks.

Erik presses his head against the Vicomte's chest. "He is breathing – help me get him up."

Darius and Henri bring the Vicomte's body to a sitting position. A smear of blood lies beneath his head.

"A blackjack, I would guess," Giselle says. "Looks superficial, but enough to knock him out."

"Henri, go get Dr. Gerard. If Nadir and Inspector Marquand are still there, bring them back here as well," Darius says.

"Did you not say Raoul was with Christine?"

"They were together with Phillippe in Monique's dressing room…" Giselle says.

"Help Darius with the Vicomte," Erik says, getting to his feet. "I must go to Christine – she would have wanted to prepare for her performance. She is alone."


	18. The Perfect Gift

The Perfect Gift

" _Christine!"_

* * *

" _Erik!"_

* * *

"Andre, what are you doing here?" Adele asks, coming from the rehearsal hall.

The boy sits on the stool next to the stage manager's desk.

"Reynald said there was a body by the elephant. I was told to wait here – while everyone else went to see," he responds calmly.

"Everyone?"

"M. Erik, Darius, Henri and Giselle," he says. "Henri just ran out to get M. Nadir and Dr. Gerard."

"Did he say who the body belonged to?"

"Le Vicomte de Chagny."

"Dear God, boy, how can you be so calm?"

"How should I be? I was told to watch – I am watching."

"Come with me," She says, grabbing his hand.

Jumping down from the stool, he asks, "Where are we going?"

"Well, first to Monique's dressing room…"

"Can we not go see the body?"

"You are becoming entirely too much like Erik."

"Really?" The boy's face breaks into a big grin.

Tousling his hair, Adele cannot refrain from laughing. The boy is infinitely more charming than Erik – perhaps he is the child Erik might have been, if… No time for such thoughts – too many injuries, too many deaths – they must stop.

* * *

Christine takes a deep breath, an attempt to still the rapid beating of her heart and the nausea rising in her throat. The rattle of the door knob holds her in thrall. _"Wake up. Move."_ Running to the mirror, her darting eyes find on her steel knitting needles, she grabs them from the basket.

At the sound of the latch, she freezes. "Just run, get through the door, do not look back," she mutters to herself, fighting the inertia gripping her. Unable to resist the urge, she turns as Isabella bursts into the room, closing and locking the door behind her.

The attempt to reach the mirror fails. The older woman grabs the back of her dressing gown, tearing it from her shoulders. Christine struggles to rid herself of the encumbrance it presents, pulling her arms from the sleeves, kicking it away.

The older woman stumbles as Christine regains her footing. The needles stab Isabella on the shoulder and chest.

"Bitch." Isabella grabs Christine's arm before she can strike again, twisting until the needles are released and fall to the floor.

Christine cries out, punching at the wounded shoulder. "Why? Why do you want to hurt me?"

"You went to a male doctor to talk about your child." Isabella grasps Christine's shoulders. Pressing her onto the settee, Isabella kneels to hold her down with one arm, as she slips her duffel over her head onto the floor. Taking a length of cloth from the bag, she lifts Christine's wrists up, tying them together. The pale blue woolen blanket folded over the arm of the chaise swaddles her upper body.

"I do not understand." The desire to struggle is strong, but the baby – she must think of the baby. _Oh God, what to do?_

The woman's eyes are raw with rage – but her focus is not on Christine. Some dark image holds her attention. "All you high and mighty whores now seek out men to deliver your babies. You pay them hundreds of francs. They spit on us – they take away our work."

"What work?" Christine asks through quivering lips.

"Midwives – our work disappears because you – women like you – go to male doctors. Even the ballet rats wanted a doctor," she sneers. "I was not good enough for them."

"But I told Dr. Gerard I wanted a mid-wife," Christine implores.

Isabella returns her focus to Christine. "He would have changed your mind – he examined you – I saw the look on your face." Satisfied she is immobilized by the back of the sofa and the afghan, the older woman uses another strip of cloth to secure her ankles. "Did you think I would not remember you and the man in the mask – the disfigured Opera Ghost? Nodding to me, all polite and refined." Isabella pierces Christine's eyes with hers. "Do you think you will trick me now – talking all pretty and nice?

"Truly. My Mamma had a midwife. She was our friend," Christine inhales, her breath bated, eyes closed to prevent tears from falling. _Erik. Someone. Please hear me. Please come._

"It does not matter. You are not going to give birth to this child – you should be thanking me. Monster father – monster baby," Isabella says, reaching into the duffel for a square tin, several folded cloths and a small leather case. "I shall make it so you will not have to worry about that in the future."

* * *

Adele eyes Christine's dressing room as they pass – stopping briefly. "Did you hear anything coming from in there?"

Andre tips his head. "No, Madame."

"I suppose I am just anxious. Very well." Taking his hand, she starts walking away.

Andre stops, looking back at the door – his brow furrowed.

"What is it?"

"A feeling. Let me knock," he says, raising his hand. "Is that all right?"

Adele nods.

* * *

Isabella starts at the rapid rap on the door.

"Who is there?" she asks, placing her hand over Christine's mouth.

"Adele Giry – who are you?" She tries the knob, but the door is locked. "Where is LaDaae?"

"Oh, Madame, it is I, Claudine – Madame Christine's dresser. She is tending to personal needs before I help her gown. Do you wish to speak to her?"

"No, I suppose not. Thank you. I do not wish to disturb her."

* * *

"Well, it does not sound as if there is a problem," Adele says, frowning – unconvinced of her own assessment.

Andre shakes his head. "There is."

"What?"

"Claudette is her dresser, Madame. There is no Claudine."

The blood rushes from her face. "Of course, you are correct. What can we do?"

"Do you want me to talk to Madame Christine – like M. Erik?"

"You can do that?"

"Oh, yes, he taught me how. What should I say?"

* * *

Erik hopes…prays she can hear him. The congestion from his cold labors his breathing, sweat breaks out on his forehead and the urge to rip off his mask is overwhelming. Loosening his cravat, he tears it off as he runs from the depths of the back stage area toward the hallway leading to the dressing rooms.

Nicole darts down the adjacent hallway from the rehearsal hall, colliding with Erik as he passes the stage door.

"Out of my way," he growls, coughing, grabbing her arms and moving her aside.

Holding onto his sleeve, she says, "M. Erik, please do not hurt my mother – she is a good woman – she is unwell."

"There are many who are unwell – thanks to her," he hisses. "Now please remove your hand and allow me to pass."

"I am coming with you," Nicole says. "Someone saw her stealing a gown from wardrobe, I was trying to find her…stop her."

"Your choice."

* * *

" _It is Andre and Madame. We are getting help."_

 _Thank God._

* * *

"Run quickly to find M. Erik, I will continue to Monique's room, perhaps le Comte is still there."

* * *

"Old foolish hag – thinks she is some sort of God," she laughs, grasping Christine's chin. "She is gone."

"Why do you call my baby a monster – Dr. Gerard says she will be fine?" Christine decides to engage her again.

Shifting her position, Isabella arranges several of the cloths over and around her. Once open, the square tin reveals a folded cloth and a small stoppered bottle. The compress is placed on Christine's face.

The strong odor stings her nostrils. Shaking her head back and forth, she disturbs the drug soaked rag, throwing Isabella off balance. Christine pulls her knees up, pressing her tethered feet against the arm of the settee, rolling to her side. Her face on the same level as Isabella's. "Please, let me go. Do not harm my baby – please, do not harm my baby. No one will hurt you if you stop now."

"They are all busy elsewhere," Isabella says, pressing Christine's shoulders flat again, tucking the blanket tighter around her. "So you want me to do it the hard way."

Picking up the small case, she flips it open to reveal a scalpel. Taking hold of the tool, she shakes the box loose.

"No! Dear God, no. Oh, please," Christine sobs.

"Stop talking – do you never stop talking?" Isabella says, thrusting a rag into Christine's mouth. "The chloroform would really make this much easier for you – a little sedation, you will feel nothing."

Christine jerks her head back and forth, fear darkening the aquamarine eyes, engulfed with tears.

"No? Well, then I shall proceed without it." She ruches the chemise and pulls her drawers to expose her soft belly. "You really must be still. It will not take long," she says, touching the scalpel to Christine's pale skin.

"Noooo!" Erik crashes through the door, stumbling into the room. Charging, he grabs Isabella's arm – throwing her against the wall. The woman crumbles, fighting to get to her feet.

The Punjab lasso sails from his hand. A smirk curves his swollen lips as it wraps around her neck. "I have the power here." The amber eyes blaze with fury, his breathing harsh – a vein pulses in his temple.

Christine wrestles her arms from beneath the blanket, removing the gag. "Do not kill her, Erik.," she gasps. "Please."

"Go ahead – my life is already over." Isabella says, struggling to stand – failing in the effort. Her shoulders slump forward, arms limp. Her right hand twitches. The scalpel reflects the light from a lamp.

"Drop the knife," Erik growls, tightening the catgut a fraction. "Now." The scalpel falls to the floor.

"My wife has asked for your life, which is more than you were willing to give her or our child," Erik says. "Be grateful." Keeping his hold on the lasso, he kicks the knife away from Isabella then goes to Christine. With his right hand, he picks up one of the cloths from the duffel to press against the broken skin. He straightens her undergarments, then loosens the blanket covering her.

"My hands," she says.

He unties the binding, pulling her toward him. "Put pressure on the bandage. You are bleeding a bit – thankfully, it is but a scratch."

Nicole runs past Erik to her mother, kneeling on the floor, she wraps her arms around the unseeing woman. "Oh, maman, why?"

"Nicole?" Isabella says, patting her daughter's cheek. "You should not be here. This is not for you to know. I shall take care of everything."

Phillippe, Adele and Andre stand in the doorway, struck by the scene.

"Erik – what can I do?" Phillippe asks.

Erik holds out the end of the lasso to him. "Here, just hold it – do not put any pressure to the wire. It will kill her."

Phillippe gingerly takes the garrote, holding it away from his body.

Adele joins Erik. After untying Christine's ankles, she removes the medical paraphernalia surrounding the settee. The chloroform pad returned to the tin. "Andre, bring the pitcher to me."

"Did you hear me when I talked to you, M. Christine?" Andre asks, handing the carafe to Adele.

Using a clean cloth Adele wipes Christine's face.

"I did, Andre. It was so good to hear your voice." She holds out her hand to him.

He kneels down next to Erik – taking it, pressing it to his cheek.

"I am sorry we were not able to do very much," Adele says, her face grim.

"You gave me hope," Christine says. "Your voices…knowing I was not alone."

Adele brushes her fingers across Christine's cheek and stands up. Tapping Andre on the shoulder, she raises her chin, directing him to leave Erik and Christine alone.

"You did not go with Nadir?" Christine whispers to Erik.

"No – I felt should stay here with you – Nadir went with the Inspector."

"Raoul – he followed her…"

"That is why I was not here for you. She hit him at the back of his head…Reynald saw his body…we went to look...he will be fine…why did I not see this?"

Christine presses her fingers to his lips. "You are rambling. I understand. You are here now."

Nadir and Inspector Marquand appear in the doorway.

"What happened?" Nadir says. The green eyes take in the tableau of familiar characters playing unfamiliar roles.

Erik shakes his head. "Relieve le Comte of the lasso – he is quite afraid of it, I suspect," Erik says. "Is Dr. Gerard with Raoul?"

"Yes," Nadir says, taking the weapon from Phillippe's white-knuckled hand. "Go – take Monique to see your brother – Darius and Giselle are with him. He was injured, not seriously – enough to frighten us, however."

Nodding, Phillippe places his arm around Monique and leaves the dressing room. "I shall send the doctor back here. It would appear M. Christine needs aid…and the woman."

"Thank you," Erik says.

Slowly coiling the wire, Nadir walks toward Isabella and Nicole. The girl stands, taking a moment to run her hand over her mother's shoulder, then moves away as he unwraps the lasso from Isabella's neck.

Inspector Marquand, takes charge of the woman. Removing a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, he secures her hands. The midwife shows no response to any handling of her body or commentary surrounding her. He and Nadir place their hands under her armpits, lifting her to her feet.

Nadir hands the lasso to Erik's, who pockets it.

Marquand quirks an eyebrow. "You are a force to be reckoned with, Monsieur."

"Only in self-defense, Inspector."

"Yes, I see that."

"We can take her to the security office, Inspector," Nadir says.

Nicole follows as they walk her from the room.

"She is mad, Erik. She wanted to kill our baby because I went to see a doctor."

* * *

 _Joyeux anniversaire_ _  
_ _Joyeux anniversaire_ _  
_ _Joyeux anniversaire, cher Erik_ _  
_ _Joyeux anniversaire_

The Rue de Rivoli apartment is brightly lit with both electric lamps and candles displayed on the various tables accommodating the smorgasbord dinner Christine catered. The candelabra are interspaced with crystal vases filled with a variety of spring flowers.

Appetizers from her beloved pickled herring to stuffed mushrooms. Soupe à l'oignon, Nicoise salad. Coq au vin, leg of lamb and beef bourguignon with assorted side dishes of potatoes au gratin, haricot verte, vegetable and onion tarts. The highlight being an entire table devoted to desserts. Shortcake layered with whipped cream and fresh berries holds a single candle in honor of the birthday, with macarons, meringues, eclairs, Belgian chocolate and frosted butter cookies appeal to the sweet tooth of the coterie.

"Merci and bon appetite, mes amis," Erik says, raising a glass of champagne. Abandoning his typical black tailcoat, the burgundy brocade dinner jacket with black satin lapels Christine gifted him with, brightens both his complexion and his mood.

"Please help yourselves," Christine says, her choice of gown, a deep teal taffeta, rustles as she strolls with Erik to the table holding the dinnerware Erik brought with him from his family house in Boscherville. Translucent white china with a band of platinum around the edges draws Adele's attention, who cannot help but wistfully finger each element of the place setting. "So simple, yet beautiful. Be careful, Christine, I may sneak in one night and abscond with a tea cup or two."

"Had I known of your lust for dishware, I should have given you the lot when I moved it here," Erik says.

"It is well you did not, monsieur, or you would have been forced to buy new for your bride," Christine jokes.

Nadir joins them, placing his arm around Adele. His Persian tapestry jacket in shades of red and green complements the scarlet of Adele's bodice that tops her skirt of black satin. "Is this what you would like as a wedding gift, my love?"

"So you are finally going to make good on your proposal to this fine woman?" Erik says. "I was thinking I might have to remind you of your banns."

"Have no fear – Monday week I expect to see you and Christine at the Mairie."

"Oh, Madame, I am so happy," Christine says, hugging the woman who is a second mother to her. "Does everyone know?"

"We thought we would just keep it private," Nadir whispers.

"Nonsense," Erik says, tapping the tip of a bread knife to his crystal tulip glass. "Attention – Nadir and Adele have an announcement."

The guests gathering around the table where the buffet begins, stop their gossip and await Nadir's words. Meg and Darius, Phillippe and Giselle, Raoul and Monique, Veronique and Andre, with a shy Officer Fremed behind her, Dr. Gerard and Elyse and Inspector Marquand, standing near the door, holding his unlit cigar, all smile in anticipation.

Nadir clears his throat. "Monday next, Madame Giry – Adele – and I are to be wed at the Mairie."

"And…" Erik prods.

"And you are all invited here after the wedding for another celebration. We may be finished eating this feast by that time," he finishes with a flourish of the napkin he holds in his hand. "Hah," he snorts at Erik.

"Touche."

"Bravo, brava."

"Congratulations."

"Bon chance."

"Please, everyone – eat," Christine says before facing Erik. "Well, you managed to take the attention away from yourself."

"And committed us to hosting another party," he sighs. "As to your observation – their wedding is a happy event – my birth was not – although you have finally convinced me that my life is worthy," Erik says, pulling her close, kissing her forehead.

Inspector Marquand raises his hand, signaling Erik come over.

"Let us see what our police friend wishes to say," Erik says, taking Christine's arm.

"Inspector," she says. "Thank you for coming."

"I am honored to be invited."

"You have news of Mme. Laurence, I presume?"

Marquand nods.

"Is she…aware?" Christine asks.

Shaking his head, he says, "She is completely oblivious to any stimulation – just sits and stares, muttering something about doctors and babies and how life means nothing."

"Yes, that is much what she was saying to me," Christine says, touching her stomach.

"You are completely recovered?"

"I was not really physically injured – when she was assaulting me, I chose to not fight back too strongly, for fear of harming the baby. There was little more than a scratch from the scalpel – praise God and my husband," she says. "I actually performed the opera that night."

* * *

 _"Are you certain?"_

 _"How can you of all people ask me that? I cannot think of anything else I should wish to do right now. Celebrate my life – the life of our child and the life of this theater."_

 _"Then sing you shall, my angel."_

* * *

"What will happen to her?"

* * *

 _"If it is agreeable to the courts, I will take custody of Isabella – be responsible for her care," Dr. Berber-Perdue said._

 _"Why?"_

 _"Her condition is partly my fault, I fear. And, even if it is not, I believe it to be so."_

 _"What about the killing of Mlle. Arnault?"_

 _"Her death was ultimately my doing as well," he said. "My concern now is the baby."_

 _"Le Vicomte and le Comte have seen the boy," Marquand says._

 _"And?"_

 _"They agree he is likely your son. While difficult to be certain with very young babies – the child's skin tone is more like yours and his eyes are darker than those of most newborns. Dr. Gerard was with them when they visited and informed their decision."_

 _German's body relaxes, his stern visage melts into a smile. "That is good. That is so good. I am most grateful."_

 _"It is time he is with his family – although his care has been excellent from all appearances."_

 _"What about Nicole?"_

 _"While she helped with the abduction of Marie-Corrine – her involvement seemed to be primarily securing the women and caring for the babies…she is not guiltless, but I would not like to see her at Saint Lazare."_

 _"Nor should I. Thank you."_

* * *

"I thought Raoul looked relieved," Erik snorts.

"Erik," Christine pokes him in the ribs.

Marquand laughs. "All's well that ends well – is that not the saying?"

"Please enjoy some refreshment," Christine says, indicating the tables of food and wine. "Meybel is helping serve. I know she will be pleased to see you again."

"I believe I will," he says, nodding at the young maid, who curtsies at his look. "I see my officer has become enchanted by the mother of your young apprentice."

"Yes, I think Andre charmed him first, then Mme. DuPree completed the enchantment," Christine says.

"Madame, Monsieur – God bless." Marquand offers a quick bow and joins the other guests.

Christine wraps her arms around Erik's waist, resting her head against his chest. He presses his cheek against her curls, swaying back and forth.

"I could see a new rounding of my tummy when I was getting dressed."

"Did you?"

"She wished to be present for your birthday."

"The perfect gift, I would say."

* * *

 **A/N - Thank you to everyone who has taken this journey with me and the relationship I conceived for Erik and Christine.**


End file.
